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My pen is cursed with darkness,
a weight that I can't shake.
My words are heavy, lifeless,
a bitter pill to take.
I try to write of beauty,
of hope and love and light.
But my hand is filled with poison,
a venom that wins the fight.
My verse is full of sorrows,
of pain and grief and lows.
I try to turn it around,
but still my darkness grows.
It's like a distant echo,
a shadow in my mind.
An undertone of sadness,
that leaves me feeling blind.
I pledge to purge this poison,
to some how find a better way.
To write of hope and healing,
and chase the dark away.
But for now I am haunted,
by this negative effect.
A heartbroken poet cursed with painful darkness,
fighting to resurrect.
The words hit different
when drinking..annnd I'm struggling.
So.Much.
YOU ARE READING
Poetic Side Effects
PoetryBroken poetry. Imperfect and I don't care to be anything different. My vices, my struggles.
