Angst

I was reading over some poems I had to write in free verse for my advanced english class, and I realized how much they sucked. They're full of angst. Here's one.

DEAREST FRIDA

Violent red; murky brown; sooty black; pallet of her choice:
The world is dark, for dearest Frida,
And life is the depth of regret, hatred, sorrow--
The crushing oblivion--she feels in her heart.

Bound by myriads of excruciating pain, numbness, rage, dearest Frida begins to paint
A world of lost dreams, nightmares. Daymares.
Her life spins in a haze of death.
A haze of disillusion.

Crashes, dying child, pain severs the connection with reality
A reality too harsh for dearest Frida.
The suffering unceasing, falling, smashing
As her child wanders away. Forever gone.

Youth, a concept lost forever in the violent accident of a mere hour, nay, minute;
Love, a time felt trick on the soul of dearest Frida
Who yearns, but never reaches, knowing there is no use
Poor, dearest Frida.


If I didn't know me, I'd say I was depressed and on something. Ha ha, I'm neither!