Why are my words cruel and unattractive?

Will I never write words of inspiration?

My words relfect me.

So why is it you don't think I'm ugly at the very least?

Shall I never shine?

Will my rhymes be anything more then awful times?

I seek a slick tongue which spread happiness and expresse love.

Nobody enjoys my rants.

They aren't written for that...

So whats the use of pain written on cue?

I'm but a waste, like my words and all the hate.

Will I ever rise from below?

Will I ever be able to let sweet words flow?

I don't know who I am any more.

With this creativity darkness is sure.

What comes with pure happiness is definitely unsure.

Bury this pen.

Bury me alive...

I'm not even worth this moment in time.

I'm corrupted by my past.

The only thing I have are words written with blood and a broken cast.

And depressing words vast.

And arranging hate in words vast.