My neighbour at the table doodles big penises, black hearts, band logos and stabby goth people in ink. I am “flustered” from some texts from Mark, so I doodle bad poetry instead.
A standout fuzz in the hair and golden down on the chin wakes a longing deep and rare signaled by a stupid grin. Morning chores and fast shower and slurping tea on the run better run to catch that hour of school's oh so wicked fun. While the day is soon over; eight hours of us being split like forever France and Dover takes a certain patient grit. A standout fuzz across the scalp and the crooked happy smile then you stand there like an alp burning me for that long while. With that sickness that you gave which caused me to lose my wit to write this poem about you, knave because you make me lose my shit Love is wicked and is kind but I so have lost my mind.