Forum Thread

From the depths of my twisted mind, I present to you the worst (well, more like earliest) poems I ever made.

The snow glows bright,
On the winter night,
As the moon smiles,
At the white piles.
-First poem, made when I was 6.

The damned still exist,
Finding hope where there is none,
When they have many woes, enough to fill a list
Through suffering, their knowledge they hone.
-One of my more 'sophisticated' poems, I don't even know what this means. I think I was under some kind of voodoo trance when I wrote this.

Life is nothing but a collection of lies.
Nothing more than some lows and highs.
When you give it up, you release all ties.
But when you think about it, it seems very nice.
Tricking you is the way of life, just a gigantic heist.
-I don't even know when I wrote this, found this when I was rummaging through some of my notebooks from high school.

Yep, I definitely was a gloomy person back then, and I'd like to think I still am. I don't think anyone would like these poems, though.

---