why does it matter
what goes on in your room
on the side of the bed
that no one sees?
does it matter
if you're alone
and writing of a suicide?
the ink spots the carpet,
and the floor is weaker here
your head's against the bed
and hands are trembling.
you don't know where it's going
when she knocks on your door
and says you broke something.
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139,350 Literary Works • 672,540 Reviews
I've really been experimenting with a different kind of writing lately. Perhaps it wasn't such a good thing because now all of my poems remain a mystery and are empty.
Too vague and proasic for my tastes. I have no idea who "she" is near the end. You don't make enough profound comments to make this strong at all, and nothing stuck with me.