The only thing I find important,

is the mixing of words called poetry.

Depsite the fact mine's irrelevant,

It's the only thing I have left you see.

Even when the media tells me,

that everything is fine and everything is completely all right.

I can still write about society,

and how they fucked everyones opinon through screwed incite.

Poetry is anything and everything I want it to be,

because in a world filled with demons,

There's still a shred of hope I see,

Through all the darkness I can even spot the heavens.

As you can tell ryhming is my specialty...

...

Perhaps I should have thought that one through,

Oh well.

What can you do?

Because at the end of the day I may go to hell,

For the sin of thinking creatively.

I'll probably die with a pen in hand,

or a laptop crushed to my chest.

People will cry and still demand,

My words of wisdom from deep inside my breast.

I will prove that my words were meant to read,

Because it's what matters to me,

And when my ink fades and starts to bleed,

I'll forever hold my place in History.