Roses are red.

Violets and purple.

The words that you said

Were very hurtful.

Sometimes I rhyme,

But not all the time.

I hate my life.

Where is my knife?

Till death do us part,

But I'm a necrophiliac.

My blood pounds through my heart.

I might get an attack.

This poem, it sucks,

Like a weird yellow duck.

I still hate my life.

Where the heck is my knife?

I am done for now.

I'll stop being a clown.

You should just look away now;

I'll only make you frown.