MY Poetry

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My poems these days are messy afterthoughts With no thoughts or rhyme to them anymore A whirlwind of time pieces that are just eventualities
  Years after we have seperated And my lips have ceased My brain will continue speaking highly of you   Années après nous avons séparé
  Lately I’ve grown aware Of my habit for lashing out, my cold fits My disenchanting flare and I know my pride's laid bare
  I know how strange you’ve been feeling these days My Golden Girl’s gone cold But all of that could change Yet still you remain with me  
When skies are blue and clouds are grey. When nothings new and people, fade away. When life looks bleak  and it all seems arbitrary. You need to realize, its only temporary.
My poetry is a bonfire on a sand summer night, It is neither quiet nor satisfied. It strives for more than what was made before. It is my way of expression, It is my way of communication.
It won't happen to me, I said. That's a sad story, but it won't happen to me. I'm invincible. A teenager. My "whole life ahead of me". It won't happen to me. I'll do everything right. I promised. I won't drink and drive. I agreed.
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