I'm tired of writing poems
Nobody cares to read
People don't know how hard it is
To carry this deed

I'm sure people open it up
And see the writing's length
I'm sure if it's too long
They would rather save their strength

I know this for a fact
Because sometimes I do it too
Sometimes I'm too lazy to read
My apologies to you

I'm tired of writing poems
That nobody bothers to like
It makes me feel depressed
And want to stab myself with a spike

It makes me think in depth:
Do I write **** or not?
Well if it is as bad as I think
I hope that **** gets hot

The world will go on as it is
Where I'm just another face
I guess I'll be forgotten
And I'll be buried in the days

She danced and laughed like she was a person,
But inside she was an evil demon.

The red of her dress bounced from wall to wall.
How could it be possible not to fall?

Her horns sprouted from inside her head
And what she told me filled me with dread.

"I don't love you. I think I never will."
No other words but those make me want to ****.

I burned inside, I regret having fell.
For falling made me feel the fires of hell.

The dress she wore turned into her skin.
Oh god forbid what I'm about to get in.

Never had evil looked so sublime.
Now I wish for this demon to be mine.

My feelings for her then became dire.
She grabbed me and threw me into the hellfire.