smoke blackened tears
and not-so-good ideas
people always stabbing me in the back
my tears are falling
and the blade is calling
the sadness seeps in through the cracks
voices in my head
make me wish I was dead
I can't seem to get back on track
my life is one big blunder
wish I was six feet under
the coffin holds the qualities that I seem to lack
YOU ARE READING
dark poems
Puisithis seems like poetry and prose sometimes it's more than you'd suppose see, what my mind creates, goes but what that is, nobody knows
