Dirt Under My Nails

Took five minutes, I wrote it on my jeans during work and then transferred it onto paper, just a little rant of how I was feeling at the time.

Why have I died?
There's a foreign, unexplained sadness inside
It hurts to look at a smiling face
Why can't mine have such a mirthful grace?
Worthless, failure, stupid, unneeded
A use for existing...receded
Not even he can make me feel alive right now
It feels like a hand thrust in and tore my heart right out
I'm not better than the dirt under my nails
I'm just a flightless bird that constantly fails

Reviews

[Bella-Marie]

What a ranty sort of poem! Although I think you could re-write it and make it better. Great ideas, though.