Well, this poem my friend wrote. I like it, but there is something about it that is buggin me. I understand it, but at the same time it feels like there is another purpose comming from this poem?
What do you guys think.
Pen and paper is all i need,
Write feelings down,
So pain won't feed.
Gnawing tumultuously at my soul.
Drowing my reality to fiction
The wrathful creature. So difficult to control
I roll on with the hits,
Ignoring the intense scars left on me,
Burning like fire, everywhere it spits,
Leaving harsh burned traces,
On my forever makred skin,
Giving me painful faces,
Its expression is only mean,
Very few live to know,
Its face is barley seen,
Desperation and sorrow,
Only attract this afflicted closer,
We hide with fake laughs only to borrow
I won't let it feed,
Desperation,
My hands will bleed.
I will continue to let myself out,
Say what i savor
Forever on my less traveled route
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