To be laden with pain is such a shame,
Though on the outside I don't look that ill.
It all feels like a big and twisted game,
And from me it has taken my strong will.
I sit in solitude with my lament,
For I have not the energy of life,
But rather of death that seems to dement.
I know I cannot continue this strife.
Time and time again I hold much pain here
That should not be welcomed in my own blood.
And seeing that away I cannot steer,
I seem like simply a stick in the mud.
One day things will hopefully get better
If the doctor gives me a cure's letter.
YOU ARE READING
Little Writings From A Little Person
PoetryThis is a collection of little writings and poems that I've written. They range in any subject possible. I just write whenever I'm bored, so I've decided to share them with people other than my close friends. I hope you like them. ❤
