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