Sometimes I like to sit with Her,
and let Her tell me about life.
She tells me that its a joke
and everyone is better off
Dead anyway.
She doesn't let me
change the subject,
even when my face gets hot,
and my arms start to itch.
But I always listen,
how could I not?
The way She paints her words,
for everybody to look and see.
I tell Her:
"Your words are
too sharp for me,
they hurt and I don't like it"
She just laughs
and tells me
to come back
tomorrow