Who has the time
to come up with rhymes
and make them make sense
and follow in line?

Who has the desire
to write up the thoughts
that circle my brain
and make me insane?

Where is my angel
that inspired these poems
that made my life bright
even at night?

Why even bother
to get out of bed
when the days are all the same
and my life seems such a game?

I don't have the patience.

I don't have the time.

I don't have the desire.

I don't know where my angel is.

I won't even bother.

Who has the knife
that will end my life
that will end my pain
so I'll never have to write again?