my poems feel empty
like i’m not saying what i need to
every rhyme forced
every metaphor cliché
every thought coerced into some beautiful melody
but every verse was left unsung
my poetry:
remnants of the shell of a person i used to be
i clinged to some false sense of realty
simultaneously aware that nothing good could ever come to be
but as lamb lead to slaughter
i forced myself to succumb to the darkness
i drowned myself in sadness
silently begging for someone to save me
why couldn’t anyone see me?
my wrists told my sorry for me
only no one cared enough to listen
but didn’t I bring myself here
i lead myself to this massacre
how could i expect anyone to care
because this was only fair
