I would be mortified
Embarrassed
Shamed
Sickened
Horrified
Paralyzed
Petrifi­ed
Nauseated
Sick at myself
Humiliated
Self disgusted
(Oh what's the word for losing your last friend to bad writing)
No. You can't read my poetry.

I jump into things too much, too quickly
And often regret it later

I don't jump off of things much at all
And also regret it later.

Some days I drown more than others
And some days I can't write a single word
Other days I can write lots of sonnets with lots of words
That don't say much at all

Today I am drowning a lot more than usual
And I can't quite catch my breathe
long enough to write so
I typed this instead

I worked six hours today
And I still find myself
Skipping out of mcdonalds
With my sore and swollen feet
And an obscene smile spread across my face
Unable to make myself act accordingly
Because of you

You say your favorite Eagles song is Take It Easy
But I never liked that one
I prefer Take it to the Limit
Or I Can't Tell You Why
But hearing it now
Reminds me of you
And maybe that's enough to make it the best song I've ever heard

I tried to write a poem for my mom
Filled with warmth and admiration
That she could feel a deep happiness while reading.
I really did
But all that came out
Were a few poems about a mean boy at school
Some ******, unoriginal cliches
And a suicide note

So here it is:
"I'm so sorry"