I love when rhymes show
polka bats, octopus slacks
from a book I know.

He was a man I could not keep alive
I had to make him leave, he had to go
I held the knife up and started to dive
It went through as if he was made of snow

As he turned I could see the face of fear
I promised it wouldn’t last very long
He started to come close to me, so near
He said to me I had done something wrong

I said it’s his time from the life he had
I gently laid him down, it was his time
As I stood up I knew I had done bad
Had to be done, although it was a crime

My life had gone on for many years more
I still relive the account of the gore

Sometimes I think,
Pain is okay.
If there were no pain in my life,
I wouldn't be able to write this way.

You know what's sadder than writing anonymous poetry online.
Writing anonymous poetry alone,
in your room,
for yourself.
Although it is a close one.

I remember so many things
So many things that shouldn't even matter to me
*“My mind's memory is worse than my randomly saved screenshots.”