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.
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.