Making a place
Inside my own head
Slowly realizing I'd rather be dead
Alone in this world
Without a home
Like a nomad
I only just roam
From life to life
From girl to girl
From this pain
my insides curl
No good morning
No goodnight
Loneliness is my only right
I've made a place
But I'm not dead
Just alone writing poetry
In an cold, empty bed
YOU ARE READING
Into the Wood
PoetryA book of Poems, nonsense, and incoherent ramblings of a man trapped in his own mind.
