Here's an empty theater,
I'm the sole audience and performer,
Fueled by pain and ether,
I thrust forward from a corner
I faced the sea of empty seats,
I'm not looking for a crowd,
I voiced out all my pleas,
I wailed my pain out loud
The spotlight isn't on,
I really don't care that much,
I'm just the world's pawn
who already lost his touch
YOU ARE READING
Confessions of a Tired Poet
PoetryWhat kind of poem would you write if you stopped caring about everybody else? Confessions of a Tired Poet is a collection of short poems that gives you a backstage pass to the life of a poet who's sick and tired of his life. This is the front seat t...