I never settled for less, only the most
But it seems as though I wrote for ghosts
Word after word, line after line
Yet I found no praise to take pride as mine
Thus, I bring these poems to an end
Never to be overlooked or unread again
Free from the torture of loving to write
I will silently wait to see the Truth; the Light
At last finding the love you all kept away
Though a few of you will wish I had chosen to stay
Never wondering why the greats we are prompted to read
Are never added to despite the times and need
For we’ve convinced readers to pick up pens
Showering them with glory and love that never ends
Thus our art continues to be written into the graves
He writes by himself but never shows it to anyone. He's insecure and he hated himself for that. Whenever his friends ask him what he writes, he always hides it away either that or he just changes the topic. He doesn't like it. He doesn't like people in his privacy. In fact he hates it. He hates it so much that he just wants to bash right out. Maybe it's a good thing he keeps his anger in. It's not always easy to not hate yourself in front of your friends. Especially when the keep telling you your weak points even if it's a joke. No matter what they do or say still hurts. But you know what's the best yet worst part is that, he just fake smiles tries to ignore what they say even though it is as painful as hundreds of bullets in his chest.
No one will ever know he writes.
