when the poetry dies
I broke down and cried,
the day my pen stopped and died.
I broke down in ever present sadness,
the day my writing was trapped in madness.
I broke down in lost confusion,
the day my ideas were just an illusion.
I broke down in tormented pain,
the day my words were washed...
the day my pen stopped and died.
I broke down in ever present sadness,
the day my writing was trapped in madness.
I broke down in lost confusion,
the day my ideas were just an illusion.
I broke down in tormented pain,
the day my words were washed...