The crazed poet sits alone
Wondering why no one elver took the time to care
Her fingers tap the computer keys
Spewing out a master peice
That will never sell
Her sadness and gladness; her inherent madness
Confusion shrouds her life
She rubs her temples
Fingers the veins popping from her head
She thinks of blood, sex and murder
Misfortune to every soul
No comments:
Post a Comment