"The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, but I have promises to keep..."
I didn't ask to be here, but know there must be a reason to stay. I can't figure life, or people out, and it bothers me...it bothers me so. People don't understand my sorrow, and neither do I completely, but it's always there, but please don't feel sorry for me, or tell me the way I feel is wrong. I think too much, I don't believe in myself, but I still live. I live in a world that I believe has silly objectives, and desires, and the days are soooo long, while the years rush past.
All I can figure out is that we're alone, abandoned on this cold, dark land, to figure out where we're going.
I'm a terrible poet. Sorry. I don't write like you guys. I rhyme everything(what am I? Four years old??!!).