The ink on my pen comes straight from my veins And is refilled from my thoughts, not my heart Cause when I write, only one thought remains: The frightful truth that Iām falling apart
When the demons come, my heart seems to stop My whole body shakes and no air comes in My words fail me, but I can form teardrops As I relive every one of my sins
Where my pain lies, white roses seem to grow And seem to make my demons look pleasing When I share them, the readers always show Enjoyment from all my disguised bruisings
It was that moment my demons would be Beautiful tragedies for all to see.
Hello again, My, two posts in a row? I'm even surprised. This was a poor attempt at a sonnet for an assignment in my creative writing class. Thank god I didn't have to follow the stressed/unstressed format. Some of you may get upset with me for not following the format exactly, and for that, I apologize. However, you may agree that following stressed/unstressed may have ruined this piece. Regardless, I really hope you enjoy. Perhaps you as a writer can relate to this. Thank you for reading. It means the sea to me.