When everything starts to feel so real
Nothing really feels real at all
I see blurry faces, moving all around
They walk with purpose, but me, I crawl
They see their pot of gold waiting
For them at the end of their rainbow
But me, I see nothing but still I keep pushing
Where the hell am I even trying to go?
Feels like I'm doing everything humanly possible
But somehow I'm doing absolutely nothing
Maybe I'm just wasting time, waiting by the phonebooth
Hoping the Grim Reaper will give me a ring
Running from every emotion I can feel
So that I don't have to face anything challenging
Because I'm wrapped from head to toe in bandages
From past experiences, I'm barely managing
Pages and pages soaked in the river befouled
By the unnatural workings of my mind
Oh, how I hope pristine raindrops may come
And cleanse them of any horrors that they may find
Melancholy adolescent poetry, what a cliché!
No different than all the others, I suppose
There is one thing that sets me apart from them all however,
Because the rest can probably write beautiful pieces of prose
Over-privileged children drowning in the tears of their gifts
Heterogeneous generation, a world of clones
Millions of kids with the same achievements and dreams
Lack of individuality and abundance of unoriginality etched in our bones
~Andy
YOU ARE READING
Poems by Yours Truly.
Poetryjust poems from the stupidest or deepest corners of my mind. I really beg you to not take my poems. Also every photo attached with the poems are photos I took because I'm really into nature photography. Please don't take my photos either. I'm really...
