Poetry Was too good to be true, Untill It was the only cease, For the clashing of two; Brutish souls From the cluttering Of ruptures, Of my subtle existence.
I wonder, I still ponder. I wouldn't be here If not for you.
Do i loathe you For giving me pain?
Or do i owe you? For you taught me How to form Rhyming pairs From my pain.
Once, what i used to Believe it was you. Now, This is what makes me whole; Poetry, Is my home.