Young Writers Society

This is just…

This is just another suicidal,
Piece of crud,
Conforming to nothing (but something),
All just an image,
Dark words and blood crying over you,
But ‘you’ don’t exist.

This is justified by me,
Wrapped up in me,
Only my sorrow counts (no one else’s),
Black nail varnish,
Curses, drawing on demons and fallen angels,
It’s just ranting.

This is just and honourable,
In the eyes of the mad,
My soul is empty and torn (oh, and fluffy),
White washed face,
Kindda like a funny clown,
I’m happy really.