I Laze.

Everywhere I go it stays
the taunting in which case
i painfully carry with lace
of poison in my vase
where flowers are in a daze
dying amidst the mocking gaze.
Because no matter the race
i’m the last one out of the maze
as the bullying widens the space
between me and the next base
making it impossible to pace
my tired self to a safer place.
They say it’s my stupid face
or a trending craze
to make me feel in a haze
a dying breath I laze.