Eighth Grade Paid
All the pre-teen boys
And their tender toys
Looking back
They wanted too much
From this dusty pearl
A fleet in their
Mangled world
Holding fort in this
Pimpled swirl
Pease God keep me
Away from a tired hurl
With a frantic whirl
Upon this tattered curl
Looking Back
Tomorrow is always
Better than today
Like an alabaster swan
Without prey
A windy play
Catching hay
A runaway bus
Lost in a morbid gray
Eating its way through a handsome stay
Why, oh why, does
Infinity end
With a deaf band
Making plans at
A concert without hands
Outstretched like small lands
Seeking peace from
Battered glands
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