Another day gone.
Another day put to rest.
Another day gone without thinking.
Another day of putting my liver to the test.
The Sun Rose,
And the Sun Set,
And my mourning shit,
Was sour, awful, and wet,
Tomorrow I'll wake up,
I'll write something else.
Tomorrow, I'll write about a day,
When I don't think of killing myself.
Did you just put that together last night? It’s awesome and tells me a lot about the poet’s soul, lol.
Oh yeah.
I'm figuring out poetry, one day at a time.
Hint to an aspiring poet -- people like to read positive, uplifting messages, stuff that can help them, comfort them, and make sense of their world. They are not so keen on depressing, self-indulgent wallowing in self-pity. They can wallow in all the self-pity they want on their own, alone, in the dark. Don't expect anyone to read your stuff if you never give them anything.
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