Untitled

Just a random poem.

He regrets no neglect, just smirks with a quirk, his passion is at a ration , just plays the game of life with a strife, waiting for the day where he will pay, his stares no longer have cares, he is becoming old to the cold, the twinkle in his eye is now just a wrinkle, he is a man with no fans, he returns his burns of deceit and defeat to others just like his mother, he is a calamity with no amnesty, he lost to the frost of the game of life and lives to gain from the pain of others, he is the owner of being a loner, he was once a great thinker who became a drinker, he is now just a thought to the forgotten.

Author's Note

Ignore any grammar mistakes i wrote this on the spot

Reviews

[Riversdale McBoggis]

Love the flow. Add more to this!!

This isn't meant for print just spit and let it rip.

[Shaquana Adams]

he returns his burns of deceit and defeat to others just like his mother,

I love that line. It sounds like his mother is an interesting character as well.

Great job :)