Little King of Sorrows
Sometimes I think I'm crazy,
cause no one thinks like me.
I think I don't belong here,
but where else should I be?
To think like this is normal,
and when I don't it's weird,
so other's must be thinking,
my brain has disappeared.
A walking waste of human,
is what my mirror shows.
Sometime I want to kill him,
and no one even knows.
But who would even care if,
If I wasn't here no more.
Why should I stay and up space?
What am I living for?
I cannot tell which way is up.
I'm getting in the way.
I'm ugly and my mind is warped,
So who cares what I say?
I could never make a difference.
I wish my life would end.
Cause I will never like myself.
I will never be my friend.
© 2013 L.K.Sorrows
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Comments about this poem (Depression by Little King of Sorrows )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
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