I keep getting drained out, it ruins my rhyme
I drink spirit-wine to fix my poetry paradigm
Too much of this loneliness and I’m numb
Is my existence even a concern for some?
Where I am, you reach your hand into the air
And as you slowly drown everyone will stare
Amused that you ask for help and they hear
“Oh what a poor soul, God will help him, dear”
I’m forgetting it, that feeling of belonging-to,
Was it warmth or a smile that it’d give you?
Make me numb to die in peace in my place
The pain burns my heart and melts my face
I hurt myself in my mind only to feel again
You want my poetry? Well, here’s my den
Have nobody to get mine heart remended
I feel Pain every day so why not befriend It?
April 15th, 2019