this is real life,
threated by a knife,
blood on my shoes,
or maybe its booze.

toy trucks and cars,
this world to mars,
problems in my eyes,
no time for goodbyes.

weed on the desk,
i tried my best,
her burning eyes,
filled with lies.

i must stop, or try,
do i make her cry?
music in my head,
what had she said.

no end in sight,
through the night,
is this real life,
or just a knife.

life really a knife which cuts smooth life.but enduring wounds is a sportive deed. a nice poem
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