Tuesday 9 Dec 2025 at 17:11

If the poems seem depressing
It's because I'm living in the dark
I can't see the words as they seep out
Forming my poor excuse for art

My words bleed and blot the pages
Tumbling free and making a mess
Writing without light is messy work
Each line becomes one I will regret

I want to set my verse on fire
And cast them out amongst the waves
It was therapy, to write it out
The truth is, I've not be fine for days