Bad Poetry On A Tuesday





Undoubtedly there's  people in more pain than I am, dealing with more suffering

But I , I cant escape this mental state I'm in, this hell you left me in

Your name branded on my soul, just like Hester's sin

So tell me how do I forget? How do I forgive?


The lengths I'd go to escape you being complete and utter death

I have no desire for an afterlife; heaven or hell

I have no desire to remember who you are and what we were

If I had the choice I'd be nothingness

Even I wasn't aware of this darkness

This darkness lurking just beneath

I want to lash out at others, I want to cause them pain

I envy their happiness and smiles, I wish I was the same

I'm not entirely sure that I can blame you

Perhaps I've always been this way

Less of a person and more of a monster

A demon hiding behind an angel's face 




My best friend is totally going to give me shit for posting this and call it depressing. I suck at poetry and I prefer writing short stories honestly. This poem or whatever I would like to call it is undoubtedly weird as fuck. No one ever understands what I write  so I'm going to try to explain this in the most simple way possible. 

A girl falls in love and is left behind. She still longs for this person despite knowing what they did was unforgivable. She would do anything to forget his existence and not be constantly remind. With the pain she's in she begins to resent the people around. She envies their happiness and laughs because at the current time she's unable to do so. She wants leave them in a similar state of pain like she's currently feeling. So perhaps someone can understand her and that she isn't the only left in misery. The last lines "I'm not sure that I can blame you, Perhaps I've always been this way, Less of a person and more of a monster, A demon hiding behind an angel's face" refers to her no longer being able to recognize herself. She used to be carefree and happy. Now she's wounded, resentful, and even spiteful. She isn't entirely sure if it's due to the loss of love or this being her true nature.

And there you have it,
Bad Poetry On A Tuesday



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