Dis is a poem I wrote, but I don't really think it's creepypasta material. So here it is in a blog!
I live, I die, I bleed, and I breathe for the fantasy.
So caught up in my vanity,
I don’t realise the fantasy is my own daily demise.
I find myself sitting, feeling so unwise.
Maybe I should just leave,
Just pay my fees.
Maybe I should restart,
Make my way forward through the heart.
Or, maybe I should just stop,
continue to drop.
I’ve fooled myself to believe,
Thinking my imagination I could retrieve.
I don’t want to live, die, bleed, or breathe for the fantasy.
I want to kill the calamity.