I Am a Colossal Geek, it's 2:37am, and I am quite, quite drunk, but I also feel reasonably depressed and rejected, I wrote a poem in about 3 minutes, I call it:
The Ballad of Miss McNeil:
she's almost like a question,
though the answers never found,
I get the strangest feeling,
whenever she's around.
she's like a weird enigma,
wrapped inside a mystery,
she falls in love with everyone,
everyone except for me.
I don't know why I bother,
setting myself up for the fall,
but it's thoughts of her that drive me,
I want no-one else at all.
sometimes I know I'm dreaming,
but I never want to wake,
the thought of being without her,
is something I can't take.
I wrote this crappy poem,
in the hope that I wont cry,
but I know that when I see her,
a part of me will die.
perhaps Hallmark will give me a job writing the bullshit that you get in their shite cards!
---
Dad was flammable