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Poetry

I​ ​write​ ​my​ ​poems​ ​when​ ​I'm​ ​bored, Because​ ​I​ ​can't​ ​say​ ​what​ ​I​ ​feel​ ​without​ ​being​ ​forward, I​ ​read​ ​all​ ​night, And​ ​sleep​ ​all​ ​day, Just​ ​to​ ​keep​ ​you​ ​all​ ​away, I'm​ ​sick​ ​and​ ​tired, Of​ ​being​ ​w...

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World.

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World.

                          
Never did you say goodbye

                          
and I have yet to asked you why.

                          


                          
Before you left,

                          
you packed my heart,

                          
I call it theft,

                          
you call it art.

                          


                          
Well here I am.

                          
Trying to pick up where we left off.

                          
So I ask myself,

                          
What will work?

                          
A blade?

                          
A promise made.

                          
A rope? 

                          
I try to cope.

                          
Press.

                          
Don't be surprised 

                          
When I give up on you,

                          
So long.

                          
Slit.

                          
You created

                          
my monsters.
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