Worries and doubts
Buried in a tattered journal,
With doodled crowns
Colored blue and purple.
He stuck his pen
Near his rosy ears
Not many men
Knew of his secrets,
His fears.
He thought of himself as a pinhead.
Didn't have a way with words,
Only wrote with pity and dread
and doodled sad birds.
No matter if it was for only him.
He would write it, but it never fit.
Everything seemed so dark, so dim,
Not a single flare, nothing lit.
Pinhead lost enjoyment,
Lost clarity, and love.
He closed his tattered journal
Left it to feed the dust.
Left himself to be eaten
By worries and doubts.
His brain was beaten,
Pinhead bled out.
YOU ARE READING
Lunchbox
PoetryLunchbox, a collection of poetry. (!!!May contain sensitive topics!!!) I really like to express myself through poetry, it's a good way to cope and I enjoy doing it in my spare time, even if I'm not very good at it. These may seem a little too em...
