Poems and stuff

left

Now, what's left on the page

 A simple message, a simple sorry

No left of the stage?

And if i can speak my mind so simple on a page

Theres no one to understand the very unjust in my stage

Its true, i might've been so unworthy of one's kind and caring heart

But its also true i didnt know until the end of this part

My simple-mind couldn't simply find the fault 

My primitive state is one to hate 

I apologize as i start

And yet its true i dont deserve anything at all

Please dont start, i know what i talk of

I derive this from my blood

My condolences cant compare to the grievances i cause

And the relations i have broken, i cant simply begin to gauge 

But when i say i mean no harm, its true i do not try

To simply severe one's one heart, though i cannot deny

I have not been good, innocent, pure, nor even clean

Its all been hard for both terms, this sheet is unclean

And though one can understand the way that life is unfair,

Im sorry that ive made it worse when you are so rare

And no matter what i say, i know that sorry's not enough

I cannot fathom what i do nor what im made of

So i will show a message 

Not so clear or so dear

But show whats left of the page 

I will always be sincere:

so soon, its left, its gone and unwrong

understandably unfair, i want you for so long

i can show that i will make it up some way, some how

can you believe how fast the stars blow out? i want to know how

its hard to say it in front of you but i still want more help

do not assume its about love, life, or people, its just help

everything i do just seems so wrong, i dont deserve anyone

and now you get to see whats left

my words

not me