The hell it's not.
I scream, I scream as the bullets pierce from my skin,
Maybe I'm dazed, Maybe I'm not,
I hide under my bed,
dreaming a better place,
a better world, Maybe it's not,
but then again I hate,
I really, really,
hate,
this hole in my chest,
it oozes my suggestions of happiness,
Laying on the ground, in some empty well,
My chest has a hole,
Which I nolonger care,
I grab on to hope, but it escapes,
leaving me with a broken torch and a few embers,
I do not see the light,
so hell no,
It's not okay.


By Devious Scone