Pencil, I write with thee,
Ideas give unto me,
Storms of brains,
Give me thoust worst rains.

Words start flowing,
So the story can keep going and going,
Like how boats will keep rowing and rowing,
And sewing machines, sewing and sewing.

Stanzas continue to get longer,
Therefore, providing fuller pages,
And it unlocks these thoughts,
From their cages.

The cages are now discarded,
So I'll end the same way I started.

I hate myself,
Someone wrote that once,
On the bathroom stall door,
It reads,
I hate myself,
I hate myself,
I hate myself,
But why,
Why do you feel that way,
Why do you write that,
Who are you,
Don't you know you're loved,
God loves,
God doesn't hate you,
So why do you say that,
I hate myself,
So bland,
Tasteless but taste like blood,
Three short words,
So empty,
But so alarming,
Who are you,
Where are you,
You know I stare at that door,
Why hate,
I'll cry for you,
I don't know you,
But I cry for you,
So why,
Why write such words,
I hate myself,
I hate myself,
I hate myself,
Why not love?

I'm like a pencil,
you can use me for now,
but eventually I'll break.