An early poem that I wrote, with a simple illustration accompanying it. Here's the poem in regular text:
In bed I lay facing the stars. The pain, the sorrows, and the mental scars. I ask God why. Why lord why? But there is no reply. Tears run down my face. This salty taste is too familiar, too frequent. And as I stare into blank space. I wonder why does it have to be this way? I don't know. I just don't know.