I get pathetic when you're involved.
I have no games,
no "swagger",
no mysterious appeal.
Just big, blundering, lame,
me.

I never know if you're talking about me,
or someone else.
And I really shouldn't care one bit.

Part of me doesn't.

It's really just best if I pull a Gail Hightower and stay uninvolved.
(Yeah, that was a Faulkner reference).

AP Lit exam.
So soon.
Someone please kill me now.