Headache, my glasses are old
                              Older than what I was when love left me and hit the road
                              Anxious, I am so anxious
                              To be happy in this world full of glittering gold
                              
                              A little dust of a broken rifle to touch my heart
                              An empty field to run and scream and breakdown in
                              A foreign face unknown to anybody anywhere
                              A burning pyre for the dead affection I couldn't win
                              
                              Are all
                              I need.
                              
                              So please tell me to let my feelings go, 
                              It feels wrong to do without permission
                              And I will sort out all the knives
                              Just please tell me I can do it on my own
                              So please tell me to let my feelings go.
                              
                              Candid, all the moments could have been
                              But I found comfort in pre-written scripts
                              Apprentice, I am of despair
                              I follow along with it on its mellow and tainted trips
                              
                              A spark of a fire that can teach me how to dance
                              A line of dry wood to fabricate truths and beds
                              A helicopter to fly me inside a volcano
                              A necklace of rope made of my nine other heads
                              
                              Are all
                              I want.
                              
                              So please tell me to let my feelings go, 
                              It feels wrong to do without permission
                              And I will sort out all the knives
                              Just please tell me I can do it on my own
                              So please tell me to let my feelings go.
                              
                              I can't see anymore, these glasses are old
                              All the faces and houses and cupboards are scratched
                              Honey, lip balm, lip gloss in my pocket
                              Guns with silencers have been enclosed and latched
                              
                              And I won't see anymore, these glasses are old
                              They're old, they're old, they're old.
                              
                              A little dust of a broken rifle to touch my heart
                              An empty field to run and scream and breakdown in
                              A foreign face unknown to anybody anywhere
                              A burning pyre for the dead affection I couldn't win
                              
                              Are all
                              I need.
                              ___
                              If you think this one is written like a song, you're right. It is a song. Sometimes I write poems while singing them in my head, and then they turn into complete songs. I don't know if these songs will ever meet their tunes? It kinda makes me sad that some songs may never be heard by you guys. But I hope one day someone will sing the words I write. There's no harm in hoping :)
                              
                              Also if any of you guys would like to sing them, go ahead haha, make your own tunes for them ^^
                              ___
                                      
                                          
                                   
                                              YOU ARE READING
And the Petals Fall | ✔
Poetry❃ From one of the flowers in my infinite garden, I present to you a caricature of its petals. ❃
 
                                           
                                               
                                                  