When I looked out of the window during English poetry class

When I think of school…

D. David Croot has been writing on and off (pretty much continually) for nineteen hundred years. He is no preternatural creature, no real special abilities or heightened desires to speak of, but he’s put in his four-trillion hours and it’s all for you my sweaty precious and sublimely beautiful creatures.

Out of the English classes window

— — — — -

Unrefined

Distant

Offers answers unspoken

Radiates pieces

by and for

the broken

ones

Shattered

Or some

verisimilitude

of shaken youth

Of rattled untruth

Spread by the bile

of yonder days

Still emanates

in those moments

with the

blinds down

Sun setting red

When suicide

is only a fresh start

from freedom