hannah jang

Stared at this white blank page for a while now trying to make up half of what I feel

but I can't write no three things as a bad as you've been told

I didn't want to write things that are plaintive in your view

but what are words if you don't read them out like I do

there are no more remnants to tell you what I think is true

when I can't tell the difference between my selfish thoughts and what is real

the spirit of forlornness. melancholy. poignance 

these words mean nothing if I told you the harness of my guilt

there are no more remnants to tell you how I feel

there's nothing true anymore to feel

if there was anything left for me to lose
I hope you can tell me the truth

I just sat there for ages 
contemplating what to do with myself