God Don't Like Ugly

Oblivious, strange malaise. I lay with vertigo. Ad nauseum.

Tunneling, The moon casts its shadow.

My roots, suspended – Rot, spreading throughout.

With a hunger in my eyes, Exposed to your barren landscape.

At most times, I long to be normal.

Yet, I’m seeing twos and threes, In delusions of grandeur.

Jaded from harsh realities; I’ve become an island.

Wishing I was cut from the same cloth, Experiencing in the ways that you do.