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 I’m 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.
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 11:10 AM UTC
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 I’m 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.
Take care.
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