Waste of time

Words that pierce my tender heart

Written by my own hand

 

Like I have a me and myself

Like I am schizo

But, do not think so.

It is just my imagination

My depression

Written down in meaningless letters

Which become words

which become life long sentences

 

Where am I, myself, me

even bothering You with?

I am nobody to You,

The reader

The writer’s relationship

Nothing

Author's Note

Let me know what you think. Thanks