This was just a random poem that kept me busy during sixth hour today so I thought I might as well share.

The vendetta against myself is now ever clear, The thought of hate I hold near,
The feeling of apathy in the air, who knew you could kill with a stare?
A preface of joy misleads your thought, For me there is nothing brought,                             Not a smile not a frown, but a preferable self indulged Throne and Crown. 

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed