I try to write when I'm happy
but the product just doesn't
come out right
The intersection of the pen
and itellectualism that
becomes my poetry ( usually)
decides to stay in the
shadows away from the light
But there are jovial poems, the best are sad
Is my poetry the child of
darkness?
Or just the remains are of emotions at extremes?
gah, I have no time to
remedy this I'll just do it in
my dreams
*written 01-05-04* |
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