Jul 2018
A sad song is playing,
And I'm here,
Lying on my bed,
Thinking.
They always tell me
That they're there
But why does it feel like
Whatever I say won't make sense anyway?
And I'm here,
Lying on my bed,
Thinking.
They always tell me
That they're there
But why does it feel like
Whatever I say won't make sense anyway?
I can't write good poems. I'm ****** as is.
