This life of blackened poetry’s
Atrocious, slowly killing me—
a poison, psychologically.
Of course I see life preciously,
as any schoolboy prodigy.
Alas, the lens of poetry
views beauty oh-so-dismally.
Evicted from my memory
is every joy that comes to me.
The dampened soul I’ve come to be
detests each thread of sanity—
So in this life, my only plea’s
Please spare me from the vanity.