Tober
'I'm good at being bad', he said
I knew it all too well
For in the time I'd known him
He'd done nothing but rebel
Drugs were his pocket
A knife strapped to his belt
He'd kick your ass for nothing
Then he'd tell you 'Go to hell'
And the ladies?
Oh, they love him
Not because he's debonair
He chews them up and spits them out
Without the smallest care
And in the hours past midnight
Questioning what makes him tick
I'd tell myself I'm like him
But perhaps that makes me sick
poem by Sara Fielder
Added by Poetry Lover
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