Here I am contemplating life and death because
I often write poems that are sad
They come from my anger, my hatred, my pain...
But often enough, good things come from the bad

I write of my miserable existence
And of how I long to be held in your embrace
Of what lies ahead and what was left behind
I write about how many things are usually replaced

My poetry is brewed, so to speak I suppose
In this head of mine, where i think and ponder
Where I lust and desire and want and wish
And where to thoughts of you I tend to wander

So here I am, still writing of the sorrow
Hoping somehow these words will change your mind
I am writing a poem that isn't sad, to simply prove
I may not be normal, but I'm the normalest you'll find