Words of Mourn in The Morn’
Jan 5, 2025 4:00 PM
Greetings, my dearest diary.
I’m not a stalwart tree nor a tough fence.
My world burns in agony: all of ‘tis fiery.
O’, other folks, my feelings they’ll ne’er sense.
I long for the mop of friendship to clean
My puddle of solitude whereupon I lean.

Poignantly I look unto my mirror,
Saw I my wickedness on my skin,
I lament and scream, yet no hearer.
Cast me into Hell, for my body’s a sin.
Scratches and bruises shall lay forever,
The bliss in my life Life shall always sever.

My sorrow’s akin to the snow,
Some places common and some doesn’t happen.
My terror’s the colour of the crow:
It reminds thee thy life’s ‘tleast a functioning wagon.
I live where the light comes not:
In yon shadows I slowly rot.

My soul’s windows and glass,
Thy words are a fire to my grassy plateau,
‘Twas serene ere it thou hadst to harass.
Can’t say my passions, them I shall burrow.
For ye are strangers to me, yet I know thee.
“My emotions are...