Its twelve am
I've got a lot in my head
And I don't really know
what to say
Five am comes
I'm still sitting in my bed
In the end we all know
Nothings changed
When I say I'm fifteen
You lose all respect for me
I'm not a person
I'm just a "child"
I've been through some things
Seen my world turn dark
Yet I write down my sins
And read over the scars
It's eleven A.M.
I haven't slept a wink
Because no one believes me
When I say I think
We the messed up generation
The phone addicted, no respect, wrecks
We're going too soft, or were stone cold
In the end they call me a mess
But I find I'm a dark blue ocean
With silver monsters in the deep
I'll smile through every tear
And I'll always seem so sweet
But still inside
I'm falling apart
Bleeding my words
Still calling it art
Screaming and crying
Empty mind empty threats
They all say "there's nothing,
going on in her head"
I'm falling into my mind
In a deep murky well
I'll show you sweet heaven
While I'm burning in hell
Lash me with words
Your tone's like a knife
In the end I don't care
I've lost all my life
I beg for help
In the form of rhymes
I smile so sweetly
But I'm never alright
I am the girl
Who's wearing the mask
Who's dying inside
But always will laugh
Who'll blow you a kiss
As her world falls apart
Losing her light
Fading into the dark
I sit here so silent
I watch and I lurk
I'm here, but I'm not
Do I have any worth?
I'd give you the world
In the palm of your hand
I'd do anything
To make you understand
No ones life is perfect
But I'll smile you see
I've no thoughts in my head
But late at night I think
I worry and fear
I cry when alone
Your too busy to care
Say I'm on my own
I don't know how to vent
Or how to open up
All I've ever learned
Is how to give love
But what happens when
You just run out of love to give
When all the things that made you happy
Now fall dead and meaningless
I was taught to be quiet
Bred to be kind
But not how to fight
All this darkness inside
So as I bleed these words
I cannot speak
They all just praise
My
poetry
YOU ARE READING
Poems
PoetryA poet is, before anything else, a person who is passionately in love with language. These are generally morbid poems for people who are generally morbid, or maybe just taking a small step into the shadow realm. This is a trigger zone. I don't own t...
