In lie on the floor,
Ready for summer,
Waiting, waiting,
Waiting, waiting.
Waiting for freedom.
Freedom from
The world you made.
The world you made.
The world is dark,
The world is cold,
The world is rigid,
I can not be bold.
I sit and wait,
Wait to talk,
As you say it all,
It all, it all.
I hear of your life.
And your senseless complaints.
All the misunderstandings,
And endless stories that show no importance.
World painted black,
Darker than the night sky.
Darker than the lifeless void,
Is my forgotten dreams.
Is my forgotten dreams.
Is my lifeless soul,
Staring at the clouds.
A log of hope
Is burned in my face,
As you throw it in the fire
And use is to power yourself.
My father once asked:
"What if life was a simulation?"
If it was,
Then what did I do?
The person in charge
They clearly must hate me.
It can't be a glitch,
It's happened to many times.
They hate my guts,
They hate my purpose,
They hate my life,
They wish they never added my code.
And I think it is,
And she's in charge.
She hates my purpose,
She wishes she never added my code.
You blab about random nonsense,
That has no relevance,
That has no purpose,
Just like I wish I was.
I wish you'd set me free,
From this torture you've put me through.
Ten days left.
Then nine,
Then eight,
Then seven,
It goes too slow to bear.
That dreadful bus,
With those dreadful kids,
And the dread,
Of seeing you.
YOU ARE READING
Forgotten Words
PoesíaI life written with honesty, told by someone who says she's fine, but has never been fine. An honest portrayal of all of my thoughts and feelings without worry of anyone knowing.
