A/N: I usually try to keep my language rather toned down but this poem ended up with a little bit of swear words. Sorry.
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Who is this girl,
This demon here?
It is me,
My lovely dear.
Don't you see,
I'm Fucking Insane?
A poison that will,
Course through your veins.
Who is this girl,
Who causes such strife?
The one right there,
Holding the knife.
Don't you see,
I'm Fucking Insane?
A girl whose thoughts,
Always remain.
Who is this girl,
Who you love so much?
The one that is,
Cold to the touch.
Don't you see,
I'm Fucking Insane?
I'm dying, yet trying,
Not to be seen crying.
Who is this girl,
Who whispers and mutters,
Her thoughts swirling;
Her fragile body shudders.
Don't you see,
I'm Fucking Insane?
All the torment,
Is to blame.
Please run while you can,
My lovely dear.
For I fear the end of my sanity,
Is very near.
YOU ARE READING
Clouds of Thought
PoesiaPoetry is beautiful. Poetry isn't always clear. Poetry can be dark, or light, depending how you feel. Poetry derives from people's innermost thoughts and feelings, formed when one is Lost in the Clouds of Thought. Spiritual ~ #37 Poetry ~ #112
