My poem - The Haunted. what do you think?

Question:smothered and choking
im dead without knowing

so the drugs and the gin
and to love is my sin

and to rott and fade away

to be so close
all thats left now is my ghost

cursing and crying
haunted forever
my heart as cold as winter weather

kicking and screaming
the fog at my heels

the devil, a part
of all my deals

now bid me farewell
on my one way to hell

and dont forget the color of my tears.

Best Answer - Chosen by Asker: smothered and choking
im dead without knowing

so the drugs and the gin
and to love is my sin

and to rott and fade away

to be so close
all thats left now is my ghost

cursing and crying
haunted forever
my heart as cold as winter weather

kicking and screaming
the fog at my heels

the devil, a part
of all my deals

now bid me farewell
on my one way to hell

and dont forget the color of my tears.

Thats good. I could picture it sorta, and only good authors can make a reader have a picture in their minds.. it reminds me of that movie with the curly trees.. the tim burton one? i forget what its called.. and im too lazy to google it. and i dont think its really "depressing".. i would describe it as "dark"

xo- Dee

alot of emo kids write poems ive herd alot that are better

Very deep! You have potential!

Wow, I like it. It's dark, yet it appeals to me.

You need to be happy, poetry also doesn't need to show the negativity. Read my poem, i'll post it in a question in a second.

Gosh, now, I could slit my wrists while I drink cyanide, fornicate with cloven hoofed animals and eat warm buttered puppies every morning for the rest of my life and I STILL wont be this dark and sadistic. This is either really bad poetry or super-clever elevator music in purgatory. I cn just imagine Anne Murray singing the words above to the theme song from "M.A.S.H.".........

And then I think..........

creepy........makes me want to buy a big bucket of black paint to dip dead rats in then throw them at a canvas laid on the ground so the painted rats can dry stuck to the canvas. thats what this poem is...... it is the literary equal of throwing dead rats dipped in black paint onto canvas and letting it dry.

Who calls that "art"?

"Not I" said the clown shoe salesman.