Writing is my only hope
The pen’s blood-ink, it stains my throat
There’s no one there to fawn or dote
Surrounded by my poison moat
Isolated by the fray
Shackled wrists, I’m locked away
They stick around for just a day
Then turn and leave me where I lay
Draining; all I do is try
Sinking as they pass me by
Sometimes you just have to cry
But tears won’t come—I wonder why
My words are all I’ve got and less
For looks alone don’t pass the test
Hot, I’m not, just a hot mess
They like me, but don’t like me best