Shit kid,
Is there ever a day where you don't dream that you've died?
That you haven't woken up to feel the water in your lungs,
the cyanide in your blood?
Tell me, son,
is there ever a day where you don't go outside and scream with all your chest,
and rage with all your might?
That you haven't woken up to feel the world on your shoulders,
the cutting edge of the glass in your skin?
Hey, there boy,
Is there ever a day where you don't want someone to tell you they keep the thought of you in the back of their mind?
That you haven't woken up to feel an empty house creek with an empty phone with no one to ring,
no one to even stand by your side or to hold you when you're sick?
Goddammit, lad,
Is there ever a day where you haven't wanted to become somebody else?
That you haven't woken up to find that you are made of gasoline,
and your cracking is the spark about to make you burn into smithereens,
and remove the disillusion that you've placed over your own eyes.
Just tell me young man,
I don't want to hear these half-truths,
just these malicious lies.
You're poisoning the water you've been drinking all this time,
playing oblivious and ignorant while devouring these excuses,
and self-given bruises.
So please give me a word,
please preach a sign!
Do not ridicule me as you do yourself,
when you tell the person in the mirror;
"I'm Alright"
YOU ARE READING
Coherence
PoetryThis is a poetry collection that is both ever updating and ever changing. This collection of poetry isn't exactly traditional or ever a solid complete piece of prose, I am ever adding and changing and morphing them into something I feel is better or...
