I gaze upon my worthless dreams
they bear no fruit and have no grace
for though I want to save them all
I stand hollow, and cry, appalled
if honesty tears me at the seams
then for what, exactly, is its praise?
I set a pitiful rhythm on the calendar
it's just my hopes again
YOU ARE READING
sometimes
PoetryA collection of mentally ill poems about the world, written by a mentally ill person. Perfect if you're into abstract or freeform poetry. New updates come at random times, but expect slightly consistent updates at least once a week or so! Top 10 in...
