I write bad poetry when upset
Consuming all that I am
The green tipped claws digging into my neck
Flowing through me
Driving me insane, till I, myself am green
If only I could stay away
Ignorance is bliss they say, but still
I dig into matter that stirs the beast within
It consumes me once again
Till all I am is a hollow shell, laying in the dark
Breathing not with life, but necessity
Void of what is me
Concerned with only what is, was, you two
What was is nothing to you
But to me, what you consider nothing is pain
Excitement ruined by things neglected to be said
Till here I am again, laying in the dark
Consumed by that ugly beast, that is my jealousy
