Something Ugly

I sat in front
of the old typewriter,
possessing just another story
waiting to be written.
There is not much
to live for nowadays,
be we are all just
a book within a book.
Feeling out of our skin,
we die within ourselves.
The words I write...
only those mad can appreciate.
No one knows
I am still burning
as each letter, each word
becomes tattooed
upon a page.
I'm still not sure
whether to believe it...
perhaps the act of writing
turned me into something ugly.

Reviews

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I think beauty is in the eye of the beholder and therefore it only makes sense that ugliness would be too. If you see your self as ugly do not assume that the rest of the world does as well. For instance I feel like the truth in this poem is merciless and brutal in its presentation and yet I feel that sugar coating something is in and of itself a lie and out of everything I have experienced in this life, lies... are the ugliest. On that note I feel that the truth in your poem is beautiful, despite its brutal honesty. I am aware my opinion compared to the rest of the world is in fact arbitrary and yet my point still stands. If you perceive yourself as beautiful, despite all of the pain and hardship you carry, then that is what you are. Everybody else can go f**k themselves.