poem (MY FEET)

MY FEET

my feet are wet,

my fingers are tied,

when i was nine...

my fish died.

i cry sometimes,

my pain is sweet, 

but these bitter tears are far from being a treat,

my feet is wet, 

my fingers are dry,

i hate it when my phone dies.

my feet is wet, 

my feet is dry,

either way,

id still cry.