My words,
So carefully formed.
Written to perfection.
To satisfy everyone.
But this grey cloud over my head,
Is not satisfied,
Until i am dead.
Nothing is ever good enough.
Though I've presented all my stuff.
Ive given my all.
But this grey cloud,
Over my head.
The one that wants me dead,
Wont ever, ever, rest.
Until i fall.
But dear grey cloud.
The one that will not rest.
The one that wants me dead.
You will not get the best.
You do not know me at all.
You don't listen to my words.
You do not know i'm strong.
You, do not know,
I. Will never, ever, fall.
YOU ARE READING
My war.
PoetryI have been diagnosed, ripped apart, shot down, kicked around. But ill be on broadway. Even if i have to buy a street, name it broadway and perform. In all seriousness, instead of sleeping forever, i wrote out my war.
