I Cannot Write Happy Syllables Anymore

// i cannot write happy syllables anymore the need to create a change is fuelling literature in the insides of my naive skin i collect unwritten prompts from dearth to abundance surviving to healing criticising to normalising yet the same broken heart yearning to be seen yearning to be heard a happy memory turns into a sad paradox a form of love turns into a crushing sonnet a piece of me turns into a fragmented verse i want to write about the things that matter to me but everytime i hold a pen i cannot help but bleed ink and this is how you will remember me a compilation of laughs an independent self conscious poet who cannot help but bleed who cannot help but seek seek for dead warmth poetry was never about lying never about fantasies or love poetry has always been an amalgamation of defaced truths underlying words and urged screams