Deep-diving into the culprits of my self-deprecation, "Discount Shakespeare" showcases all 50 of my poems, originally posted on Twitter, which I had written from my high school years to this day (whenever this gets published, I guess).
Teeming with...
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Discount Shakespeare An anthology of musings Poetry by luxsick
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Paint on the ceiling: a confession
I can't sleep tonight. I can't sleep tonight, and I'm sorry. Even with the warmth and gentle spirit of your words, I can't sleep tonight. As much as it is a promise to close my eyes to the sound of your voice under the robbers we call time, I can't sleep tonight. I am tired, but inspired. I am sick, but strong. And for this, I have always been wrong. I deem myself so.
Promises — or so, we think — are shots of electric gold in the dark. Encased in surface glitz, rather lacking in their misty grit, fired aimlessly, blindly, fearlessly into oblivion. I am wide awake with the willpower to see you, as I've closed my eyes through my past lifetimes, wondering... if, on this point of no return, I have slept — would all the promises we've made been broken, and not kept?
Forgive me, for tonight is different. Warmer than the blankets of words you use to tuck me in every other strike of midnight. Brighter than the flowery path you cleared at our first hello. Tonight is when our hearts dance to the radiance of festival lights, when fireworks clear the jet black canvas of night, and I just can't sleep and miss a broken promise kept in its permanence. I can't sleep tonight. So, forgive me. Forgive me, for tonight is different — as it is when nothing is the same, but our same hearts, at long last, under the same sky.
