I wrote few poems about life,
and the rest of them were about death.
I always tried to look on the bright side,
but every time it felt like a theft.
Every day I was left sad and bereft.

I wrote few poems about happiness,
most of them were about sadness though.
I always wanted to be joyful more less,
but every time I tried, the joy told me No.
And the sadness never let me let her go.

So I stopped writing, I thought Well, okay,
if it can make me happy again,
I will throw pen and paper away.
And I did, but it doubled the pain.
Since then I lived a life of a dead man.