As I float down the hall,
People ask me why.
"You only write to make us bawl."
"Don't you have any joy at all?"
And the answer to that is very clear.
It's because, I'm not wanted here.
If I were to sing,
A happy tune or that sort of thing,
Only truly you would hear,
A painful song to kill your ears.
My mind is black ink,
Staining the page with a mess so thick,
I'm a disease to plague your live.
So leave me here tonight.
YOU ARE READING
Poems I wrote
PoetryI wrote all of these but be warned may be a bit dark and gloomy.
