Why is my life nothing more than a stain. Covered with scars and cracks from the pain. A beatless heart and a dreamless brain. And no one's care when I went insane. Never a father to show me the way. Never a mother who had time to stay. Never a friend with something to say. Never a god who answered my pray. The only reason I do not die, is because I seek the answer why, my entire life has been a lie, with no one there to say good-bye. Nothing more that needs be said. Never happy or ahead. Never loved and never wed. I was born already dead.
Reason for writing:
I submitted this poem in hopes of finding a hand to reach out and grasp onto for help.
Birth sign: Not entered
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