This time it's 'extreme'.
Worse than anyone could dream.
I've got to cross a path fulla risks,
Covered with smoke that brisks.
There's no hope left,
And no route.
Only regression that flickers,
And gets worse, worser, and wickers.
Friday used to be pleasing,
But, nothing's left to cherish, nothing could be done.
I'm clueless, and this isn't the first time,
I can't feel my body move, I'm wasting.
I'm wasted, I can't take this,
Leave it, I'm goin' to give it a miss,
Keep on givin' my ears a hiss,
I'll not move and lie as it is.
And I won't be changed even if you diss.
YOU ARE READING
Chaotic Rhymes.
PoetrySometimes, you might write some junk, in the middle of the night. All you've got to do is, grab a pencil and a paper, and scribble. Who knows, one day, you might compile the bits, and name them as 'your work'. It's the result of the same actions. Wr...
