"Your writing makes me want to die"
If you weren't aware,
-Mainly because it is impossible
For matter to occupy the same space-
You would understand the
Intention.

My writing is a port city.
A place where I come to trade
All the god ****** darkness
I struggle with into something
Beautiful.

I wont apologize for the words
I speak painting a grim picture
Your glassy eyes don't want to see.