I think I'm done
I'm down and out.
I have to go.
I cant do this.
I am no more.
I am gone.
Goodbye.

What is a poem now?
A release for emotion?
a bottled up fear?
Just words on a page?
We all make them.
But what is your reason?
What is a poem really?
A bunch or words sprawled on a page?
Intricate feelings from one to another?
Its who we are. What we enjoy.
The question is both simple and complex.
We sit here writing with thoughts on mind.
But never ask ourselves "why?"
So what is a poem to you?
That is my question.

What is this?
New lines across the street?
What is this?
streams of red, with blinding heat?
What is this?
A long lost feeling not soon forgotten?
What is this?
The Pain, The Rush, The sting.
What is this?
Its new lines. New lines, across old pavement.

Is it a maske?
A front or illusion?
Is it fake? Maybe a little?
Was I wrong? A trick all along?
Im not sure. Because i was blind.
But its not there now. And i can see again.
So even though it lingers still. Goodbye maske.
Soo long and fairwell.

When you love someone,
Let them go, and if they can be happy,
It will only hurt for a while,
Then you will get to see them smile again,
Even though it Might not be with you.

Did I lose?
Am I lost?
What to do?