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So...I wrote a poem yesterday and decided to post it on here for some awkward reason. oO I mean, who reads these things anyways? Ah...whatever whee

What's in a poem without emotion?
Turmoil, strangling, suffocating, commotion?
It's like the words quiet your needed breath,
Then drown you in silence to your tramatic death.
Words, they stare and laugh and mock -
That their writer, their poet's heart is locked.
And what's the use to write without an open heart?
There's no brain, no story, no future, no part.
And I thought Shakespeare said we're in a play.
We keep on and on 'til our dying day.
Up here on this stage, reading our lines -
And behold it's the words who give us spines.
But what happens to me, when I'm lost?
Nightmares of an actor where dreams are tossed.
Words are a fear, not my only truth -
And memories never stay - always aloof.
So narrate my life in an apathetic mode -
While my head be bowed for an ending episode
Of my life in this poem without emotion -
A vaguely independent notion
Without a purpose, without a care
The show must go on, without me there.
So Shakesy, dear love, carry on and leave
Beneath the words is where I'm supposed to be.
The meaning beyond what's being said.
My accursed meaningless verse ceasing, dead.