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People are always racing past
me,
and I never feel obligiated
to stop them.
I am so afraid, so hurt
of the world, that I
feel unknown to the world
of us humans. I
linger
in the darkness, sometimes
in the light of day, but even when I am
alive,
no one seems to care...
Lonely, and dead,
I feel. Is there no such feeling
of love and care for me to other people?
I am afraid, and I have
a complete
distaste in you humans who are so
beautiful, but
complain
about the way they look, but they
get the attention,
I can't.
Is there a curse on thyself?
I look into the mirrir,
uncaring of thyself,
I bash the mirror with my fist,
and bite my tounge from screaming.
The blood pours from the
wound.
Is there a curse upon me?
**I feel what I write. So please do comment on wether or not you care for my poetry. I really neeed to know.**
 Deceased Poet · Tue Aug 05, 2008 @ 03:17am · 1 Comments |
