Bad Poetry

the wheel keeps spinning, the inside keeps burning how could i trust my heart if it tells me to stop breathing? in a room full of smoke i write verses waiting for someone to come in bad poetry might rhyme but it goes away with the wind through the window i see a forest that never sleeps the trees whisper words i won’t dare to repeat nothing is more lyrical than crooked lines dictating the path for all the hazed eyes i hear the roots of civility and how loud they sing begging for money and a diamond ring a biter melody and the words i retain i replay it in my head as if it was a solemn prayer but bad poetry doesn’t open doors or bring down walls it only dooms me to an apoetheotic fall