I walked along the breezy white
looked up to see the sun
but it was night.
The flakes of snow
drifted from the sky
Then i wondered why i'm here
and started to cry.
Taking a picture of the graceful
I plan to post it with a blog.
A mystery of the darkness
Fuck. I cant write worth shit.
This poem sucks and so does my life. Ever since i was little, i've wanted to be a writer, and photographer. But no, i cant write one fucking poem.
Anger rushes over me, into me
My desire to rip the paper to shreads
freaks into the pit of my stomach
and engulfs the emptiness of my incompetent being.
I am useless.