Hurt Poem by Scentless Apprentice
Hurt
Depressive poetry,
no one can see,
where the problem lies,
I am sick of beeing me,
and I am over here,
I jsut want to be free,
Can you see the irony?
Please don't shed a tear,
When I take that fatal shot,
don't pick up the gun it's hot.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Topic(s) of this poem: irony,sick
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8/24/2026 5:46:34 AM # rel_20260813T193622Z_3aad590
