Andrew

Ignorance and stubbornness is everything of you,

Treating her like a slave is true.

Her time, energy and love is what you consume,

Leaving me with nothing, but her gloom.

Blame is what you give to her for all she helps you with,

Saying all your problems she made forthwith.

All she does is not good enough in her eyes,

Still, she will do anything to please you until her demise.

I’ll never understand what she sees in you whom is so cruel,

Someone who cheats and lies; you’re some tool.

One day soon she’ll leave you,

Then all you will feel is rue.

Finally she’ll be free and abloom,

And leave you alone to suffer your doom.

Once again we’ll be happy as goldsmiths,

Our memories of you will be only myths.

I hope your tears for her never dries,

Feel all the pain we felt from your lies.

This fantasy of mine is my fuel,

To get me through my life that you made into a whirlpool.

Emotional Loneliness My Personal Life Pain Poetry

What If

What if someone already wrote this?

What if I post too many things at once?

What if I don’t post enough?

What if my writing’s too generic?

What if no one reads it?

What if I made mistakes?

What if I’m not a good writer?

What if I just stopped writing?

What if they can’t tell what I’m writing about?

What if I accidentally offended someone?

What if I lose all my writing?

What if this doesn’t make sense?

What if I never become a noticed writer?

What if someone hates my writing?

What if… I stopped being paranoid?

Would I be able to write something that feels original?

Would I be able to post as many things as I want?

Would I be able to not posts things for a few days?

Would I be able to write something comepletly unique?

Would I be able to overlook how many views I have?

Would I be able to write something flawless?

Would I be able to not care if I’m a good writier or not?

Would I be able to never stop writing again?

Would I be able to write things that gave people meaning?

Would I be able to make someone feel good about themselves?

Would I be able to make my writing last forever?

Would I be able to write carefree?

Would I be able to become a well-liked writer?

Would I be able to write something everyone loved?

Would I be able to… be content about my writing?

What if I could stop asking myself these questions?

Would I be able to see through my strengths and weaknesses?

Monologue My Personal Life Poetry

Post Apocalypse Nusery Rhyme #002 My Colourful World

I love my world full of colour. In the sky and on the ground. There are so many colors I can’t count them all, but these are my favorite colours of them all.

The brown of the sea as far as the eyesees.

The gray of the sky is all that can be spied.

The red on the ground of the ones that were found.

The green of the monsters that make one a goner.

The yellow of the sun is the only time to have fun.

The pink of the guts of the ones that went nuts.

The blue of the eyes that show that one has died.

The purple of the bruises of those who are accused.

The white of the snow that hide monsters down below.

The black of the blood that spew out of monsters like a flood.

 

 

 

Death Graphic Nusery Ryhmes Pain Supernatural Twisted Meanings