In My Head

I sit in my room,
Staring at a blank sheet of paper.
There is a pencil in my hand,
But the words are not writing.
I have thoughts in my mind,
And none of them are good.
I want the write about happy things,
Like ponies and butterflies and rainbows.
But in my head,
There are no such thoughts.
In my head,
The ponies are black and starving.
In my head,
The butterflies are dead,
And dried out on the ground.
In my head,
There are no rainbows,
For the sky is always dark and dreary.
You may not be able,
To see my horror filled thoughts,
I look like any other person,
Walking on the streets,
With a smile pasted to my face.
But when I am sitting in the quiet,
With a pencil in my hand,
You may catch a glimpse,
Of the hatred that dwells within.