Thank you. That's lovely of you to say.
I've been writting poetry since I was little. A classroom assistant bought me a book to write my poetry in. But I found out she died. Why is it everyone seems to frigging die?
Yes I am sitting on a cold, hard rock,
Tears flowing down my face as you sit n mock,
With the painful stab of every word,
You say, tramping on me like a herd
You break my heart,
Into me, a thousand at a time stabs in sharpest dart
The goodness within me breaks n fall apart
Some please pick up my scattered soul
Before it is cast into the deepest, darkest, black hole
Trapping me, with your haze,
Seduced, Oh I am gone n in a daze.
You cast upon my soul, in such a rage,
Forgever yours, NOT - I will free myself from your cage
25/10/2013