Black May
What seems to be the problem, my dear
A vast array of anxiety and fear?
Soothing music will surely bring comfort to thy ear
But with every second passed, the orb drops a tear
3 days had passed
Yet why does nothing seem to elapse?
This grim accumulation
Is just strengthened by this hopeless desperation
You yearn for their understanding
You try to provide hints with underlying meaning
You see that your actions do nothing
You hide in fear while everything is repeating
I hope that everything will be alright.
A collection of poems written by
aquintaine.
YOU ARE READING
Melancholia.
Poetrymelancholy, blithe and bewildered poesies this is not a place you'd want to enter
