Thought I’d try non-love poetry following the structure of a Shakespearean sonnet:
The storm clouds gather; the shadows descend.
All light is gone from the world in despair
But you do not see, because I pretend;
There is no scar for the pain that I bear.
I sit at the eye of the hurricane
With a tempest raging inside my head
Being tossed and turned. Trussed and spurned. In pain.
This sterile frame retreats to sleep instead.
But this world is construct of my own fears
Save me from myself; I cannot break loose
Redrafting my last, my eyes sear with tears,
As in dire torment, I long for the noose.
Reverse paranoia; I see their guile:
Always they are plotting to make me smile.
