- Books, Literature, and Writing
Deleted for the umpteenth time,
Because nothing would rhyme,
The correct feelings wouldn’t portray,
And poetry would be in disarray.
A ping waits in my chat box,
In some corner of my mind,
There’s a call that says hoax,
That I keep pushing behind.
Coming back to the point,
I need to write without deleting,
I would like to reappoint,
My feelings that are depleting...
Yet, they recede with time,
They remain uncontrolled,
Yes, they are out of line,
They also remain trolled.