loneliness has defined
this old soul.
Bittersweet melody
has tuned my way of
living.

I don't know how much
my heart could stand
the weight and wait
for that simple moment,
that single spark
to feel alive
and stop breathing
the ashen smog of reality.

My eyes were hooked on to the West
Feasting on the riot of colors the sun had cast
I stood dazed at an experience blest
That any poet would treasure with zest

By chance I glanced at the river below
It moved like an overloaded carriage slow
With floating weeds and ***** *******
Reminding one of an ugly heap of trash

I saw partially submerged bottles bobbing on the surface
Gradually filling with ***** water perforce
And slowly sinking down to rest in peace
With their sunken brethren at the river base

Spill of oil glistened iridescent
On the face of the river florescent
Its water was far from clean
But had turned murky green

On the still surface was a layer of ****
Like rancid butter annoying anyone’s calm
Reeking smell of rotten fish and mulch
Entered my nostrils with an obnoxious stench

I closed my eyes and turned my head
And looked away from the river bed
I thought of man’s callous audacity
In assaulting Nature’s pristine vitality

I heard the river’s rising lament
And me it did acutely torment
Any sensitive soul would be left grieving
Seeing the river in such agony heaving

In the far horizon, the sky had grown into flames
I wondered if Nature was mad at man’s tall claims
Suddenly I saw with the eyes of a seer
That Dooms day is drawing near!

Insert some metaphor of nature relating to emotion.
Imply the severity of said situation through imagery.
Apply depth to your cause for said poem.
If you're feeling rather exquisite, form a rhyming pattern.
Congrats, you're now a poet.

I'm just going to skip the ******* and get right to the point:
I've been feeling rather numb towards life.
Whenever I put one foot forward, I'm met with taking two steps back.
With each back-step, it's becoming harder to see the light.
School questions whether I have hit an intelligence ceiling or not.
My partner is off, working on her own life.
Friends aren't around when I hit the peak of an insecure moment.
Parents can't comprehend the gap between our generations.
So, what am I left with?
Sure, I could do drugs, but I much prefer the devil's juice.
At this point I don't know if I drink too much or too little.
I admit, I admit, being drunk is when I'm at my happiest.
To forget the hauntings of stress, gives me an ******* sense of joy.
I keep searching for an answer if it's all worth it.
That's the one thing that drives me through all the hell-fire.
I haven't found it.
I long to know if there is some redeeming quality in me.
Am I worth it? Am I worth living?

There you have it, folks.
This is me. This is the real me.