Wednesday 10 Dec 2025 at 17:49

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 ...