One too broken to reside.

Photo by Francesco Ungaro on

I know I’ve been writing too much,
About all the pain I have inside,
Probably the only outlet I have,
When I can’t rely on anyone else,

Sorry, if my words are too dark,
Too depressing and moody, bland inside,
Too solid like a concrete,
Nothing soft or abstract about it,

In every breath I take,
Weakens me like a kryptonite,
Slowly corrupting my mind,
Bereft of color,

It’s not that I never want to,
Write something charming and sweet,
But the mind have a different side,
One too broken to reside.

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