Need not your pathetic pity
nor your senseless sympathy
need maybe one bullet, one shot
we might make it, we might not
You say that this is merely sadness
that light will soon overcome darkness
but why are we endlessly pulled down
as thoughts flood, us soon to drown
You think everything is simply pretend
when we're all wishing for the end
but as we wish, our hopes are crushed
our voices, our cries are hushed
No one sees the actual matter
time passes, nothing becomes better
we remain misunderstood
for no one stays long enough
even though they could.
— I'm writing because I'm fighting.
YOU ARE READING
up in the clouds
Poetryshe felt trapped, or more likely she really was stuck wherever she was. writing poems was her escape out of the black hole she fell in through. whenever she wrote what she had to say and expressed what she had felt, it was almost like she was up in...
