The blood in me sees the darkness
in the sadness of my own contempt.
I hate the way the world converses
with me. I hate the despair that
blood fills me with, and in it all

I can only regret the pieces of april
in my youth. Nothing remains but forgotten
youth that seems to gnaw at the forgotten
hope that dwindles in my swirled up mind.

She left me with april winds and I am stuck
with broken dreams of possibilities of
starving youth. A youth that is twenty six
and she has no idea of what she left in me.
I drank a couple of years, and I remember the
insomniac hope of forgotten youth.

So please don’t forget me when all the madness ends.
When writers dream about forgotten disrespect, and
my mind becomes to stumble about the alcohol in my
veins. The grapes never seemed to be so good.

So night becomes day and day becomes a burden lost and forgotten. Thank for the favor of my life. So Let me die with no redemption at all.

06/05/2005

Posted on 06/05/2005
Copyright © 2025 Christopher Shin