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May 11, 2023
What is poetry if not written by a broken heart!
Is one even human if not torn apart!
Bleeding words on paper endlessly,
Incessant, flowing with saddened glee.
Irony is the heaviest thing in the room.
Littered with emotions, heading for doom.
I write till my hands start to shake,
No concept of sleep, always awake.
When death is near I’ll embrace it tight.
Been an arduous life, less joy, more fight.
Waiting for the darkness to befall me,
Dust to dust, soil to soil, will mean I’m free!
