Again and again
I do not know who to blame this history
and misery presents itself as a mystery
so blue is ripped off from its use
now anger is its origin
but it only softens up
only when guided where
and most of the time, it doesn't even care
It just wonders off it's own
finding the right face to blame—
the right phase to tame
childhood? adolescence?
who knows
maybe
you were right
it really is a me-problem
A/N
too much anger it turns sadness,
and sadness develops into anger
moreover I don't know how to stop it from overflowing
(badly written I know)
YOU ARE READING
Dazed Off
Poetry𝑰 𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒎𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔, 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒐𝒄𝒆𝒂𝒏 𝒘𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒕; 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒍𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒚... 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕. A collection of poems...
