I Write Bad Poetry

Good Day

Sleep, perchance to dream.
Perchance to never wake,
to never have to deal again.
Medicate, away the pain;
Away the feelings of
Blame and disappointment.

No angels will sing aloud a chorus
for a monster draped in human shades of grey.
No holy power will ever bellow out
to save a heart far turned to decay.

They say good day.

Steer, three heavy souls;
A heavy hand that chips and rips
and carves out holes.
Jubilate but never show.
Never whisper words
contrary to the calming pros.

I'm measuring this life out with a rope
secured within the sins I always play.
The sun that wasn't will surely get a kick
when the sky who was hastily starts to fray.

I say good day.