I write a thousands stupid words because I don't know what else to do, and I write them sitting here, pretending I'm not thinking about you. Pretending I'm not thinking about your eyes that I totally don't miss, nor thinking about how good it was, that last so desperate kiss. Nor all those times we spent just laughing in your room, because I refuse to sink back into depression's cold dark tomb.
"Why don't you write something happy?" Because it'd be a lie. So no I won't write something happy, not while I want to die. Poetry isn't something choose, it isn't just a skill that I use, I can't make it stop, it's not my choice, they're not my ideas, they're just in my voice.