The despair in which I drown
fits me like an evil king's crown.
Which happens to also be the size
of trite, tired and extremely forced rhymes.
Oh my god, that last line is so long.
It's like a mournful dove's last song.
But my heart is black like a raven.
I swear that's not racist. Something something haven.
Like media buzz words, my soul is broken.
Used up and thrown away like a casino token.
What a dumb metaphor, that's not how it works.
My life is all strife, it's nothing but hurt.
I don't really understand iambic pentameter
shit hold on
A shattered glass mirror of when I was a teen,
when I was bitter and lonely and angry and mean.
I wrote bleeding-heart poems to cope with the loss,
I can't think of a word to put after 'loss'.
But now that I'm older and know so much more,
words like 'blood' and 'fallen' have left my repertoire.
Oh that's a French word, it sounds more like 'noir'?
Who cares by this point, blah blah blah blah.
Point is that I'm smarter than when I was fourteen,
and content now to just mock other teens.
I forgot what it's like to feel frightened and sad,
and rhymes don't have to be good to let us know that that's bad.