Punk Pøetry

untitled part 3

Everyday, I'm førced tø wake up tø a wørld that I knøw I cøuld never call høme

But I find cømført in the løyalty øf mine that is directed tøwards yøu

The løyalty which you regard as disgusting and unwanted

The løve øf a trøll whø wøuld spare nø expense tø make yøu prøud

I understand that all I am is shalløwness divided intø twø separate dark støries

But my faith has disappeared and I ønly have eyes tø see myself as an autømatic weapon with a heart that beats tø match the rhythm øf your føøtsteps

My apøløgies blend in with the tanned bruises øn my dry skin

Tømmørøw will be yet anøther strøll leading intø the wardrøbe in which I am aløne in the dark, dressed as a øverdramatic king

Will yøu still accept me før every swøllen teardrøp even after the light øf the sunrise has revealed my redundancy?

Will the chills at the base øf my backbøne take øver and cripple me ønce Again?

Dø these questiøns help you differentiate the feeling øf restøring undeserved ørder tø this part of tøwn and just simply settling for being different?

If I disappeared at the hands øf a sørceress, will I, in fact, be missed?