Tell me something, Tell me something, Tell me something.

I’ve got nothing. I’ve got nothing and they know it. I’ve got nothing and I show it.

I show it in my eyes, my posture, my pose.

The way my skin wrinkles at the top of my nose

When I am stumped.

 

Nothing to say, nothing to play, oh why did it turn out this way?

There was something here – I know there was.

Why can’t I remember, why can’t I say

The words that made her feel everything because

She loved it.

 

She loved me – be myself is what I should do,

Stay away from you you you eww.

They want me to be me.

Just say what I see.

 

“I like to write.”

 

They ask something else.

What do you think? Do you agree? Do you love it? Or am i a complete tool? Any response is welcome!

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