I sit in this chair late at night
thinking what am i doing
i see all these poets
and there all right
but still what am i doing
they have great poems
meaning and life
but still what am i doing
wasting my time writing poems about my life
i still don't know what im doing
is this my cry for attention
my cry for help
is this my call out to say look at me
when all i saw is faces turning away
is this how life is, am i finally working it out
that to get noticed you must go to extremes
my poem is pointless just like this space
this life
this person and this grief
im not sure whats wrong with me
but i hope i realise soon and why
what am i doing
is cry
