classic
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A classic, A man revered by the world
Stories stolen from others and passed
off as his own, The greatest of all time
Convoluted language, a sharpened sword
Opressive tool to step on those without
To the rose with tears in her petals.
Who wilts every morning as the suns rays illuminate her wounds
Who’s roots dig deep but were grown too thin to drink in life
double double, toil and trouble...
the firelight quivers with every rumble;
the old woman's hands stir up the pot;
the air is stale with the smell of rot--
Glass, Glass, Glass,
It echoed in her mind, as she could just never find the time, To try go and make that climb.
I use to have stuffLots of stuff Stuff that I woreproudlyStuff that I carried around in my pocket stuffStuff that I woundplace in placesamong other stuffto be seenby others who probably had theirown stuff I really lovedmy stuff Now I can not ev
Over the horizon rests the deceased and the black skies and
Smokey clouds lift the useless souls above ground
There’s ritual drumming in the background
Monstrous figures dance around a fire
You see and then connectFrom rebound to rebound, it’s all in your headthese broken souls, and misfortunate eventsare completely suppressed, once you take them to bedtrapped in a body of sinful debt
I took a commemorative driveBack to a town that glorified the wiseIt was 500 miles and three packs of cigarettesThe crisp, burning sound embedded in my head
Am I invisibleWhen my arms wave for aidAm I bothering the peopleShunned and ashamedMy lungs fill with mistakesFour gallons of heart acheI fall to my endInside me
We start with theCrackling record of “Gloomy Sunday”Playing in the backgroundThe melody goes on slowlyBare feet moving carefullyto the romantic sound300 sextillion stars surround us
“We’re all just some punks, miserable creaturesWith our human goal to be: enhancing all of our featuresFurther into the caves, intentions become deeperLike killing your local preacher and to blame it on the teacher
In her eyes the world started off small and to her surpriseit was a sin to grow oldAge wasn't the purpose of her discovery, rather than the wisdom that came with no recovery
I am not a winner because I haven't fallen into the trap of sensitivityI have lost because my peers dramatize every little thingI am not a winner because I don't support implausible charities
We the peopleCreated the definition of insanityContinuously birthing another thesis to "protect" all of humanity
To whom it may concern,Yesterday I took a walk and I saw a birdHe flew in the opposite directionso I followedMy legs became weak, my head was so hollowHe led me directlyto a well
She used to trace her eyes with a path of blackI assumed it was to grab attentionShe would perfectly fill in her acne scars’ gapsMaybe it was to be the best additionBarbie dolls, and Maybelline models
Have you ever just sat down and wondered,
Why poetry?
Was it an escape from the harsh reality:
Pain demanding to be felt
The loss of your loved ones
Everything just seems really fragile
The sophistication of a thought virus
That erupted in my soul
There once was a girl I met
Was the best girl out there yet
From bein’ together
To barely ever
Someon’ else got who I didn’t get
Antonia
We remember
I remember
Our childhood
Had its pros and cons
We’re adults now
All grown up
It’s crazy how time flies
The few moments I spend with you now
to start a letter
no one knows,
this generation
has yet learned
to grow
in love,
or simplicity,
to be
of what used
to be,
My tangled feet drift through the weaving waves, scarlet scales hiding my skin. Eel whispers wind through my head, the poisonous words biting my ears.
My heart was broken
Neraly Choking
On my own tears
I tried to leave
But you held the key
And after all these years...
I fell hard in love
One Ignored
Lilies do not verbally express their want
For your admiration
But dear, look at her colors, do they not
Wile E. on the hunt to capture Roadey
Devising devious schemes
To get you here with me
Backfiring
