Saturday, 4 May 2013

I Wrote This Poem,

and I don't think I'm very good at this, but I didn't know what else to do to about the whole committing suicide thing so here goes.

(S.K. 4/5/13)

Little errors,
A sheet full of them
A littered conversation
And my imperfect body. 
Happiest when
A dark thing remains distant
A polluted mind fragments
And my senses slumber. 
Crying out
A four-walled room swallows tears
A pillow and a duvet cuddle me
And I smother a thought-bubble.


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