Fed up
I sit on the streets,
pondering every thing I see.
But see only one thing,
a life that means nothing to me.
I'm fed up with your sympathy,
I don't need no empathy.
Go on, tell your friends.
I don't think I've met my end.
Drinking booze, having fun.
It doesn't end til the day is done.
I regret it now
and wonder how
my whole life
has been since I left my wife.
So I sit here, waiting.
I'm so fed up of hating
everything I see,
which means nothing to me.
- Goth_Scene_Kid's blog
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Oooo...too painful
Interesting...it's got a nice sort of meter to it...the lines all seem to fit together like a jigsaw puzzle. I'm an OCD rhymer and if I don't get an exact rhyme (Go on, tell your friends. I don't think I've met my end.) when I'm expecting one I just flat out lose the whole flow of the poem, other than that I have no criticism, except for the fact that it hits a little too close to home with this reader.
With all sincerity,
--The Bleeding Bridesmaid