This Poem Kills Me

Meadow flooded with gray

leaving sheep astray

Blue sea turns blue

’tis the loneliest place i ever knew

 

Blood shed above east

This cold wind is but the least

a mending ground from shake can feel

after on its chest, sharp thorns dwell

 

This poem tries to draw a lovely curve

on world’s face I almost cursed

it writes lines of pretense-blurred

 with wicked borrowed force

 

’tis failure, the service I don’t get

but frowning is never to make a face of regret

‘coz everything that’s left is just vanity

I don’t care anymore, this poem kills me