Forlorn, yet I am surrounded by a nation
Here, yet unwanted
Wishing, yet in vain
Loving, yet in silence.
What to say,
How it should be said,
Be not of it,
And hate within.
I, I am not real,
A mere spirit,
You, you are not fake
A mere mortal.
Darkness and happy with it,
Light, it burns my skin
Pale, with black heart
And crimson for eyes.
My mind, warped,
My life, surreal,
My heart beats, uninvited
The life of a sinister person.
This is the worst ever poem ever written by anyone.
I wrote, sadly.