My lips are stained with your name and my eyes are like a broken record,
Flick-flick-flickering back to you.
My ears are good at blocking things out and I'm glad, because now I don't have to hear you yell;
Not anymore;
Not anymore.
My hands are strong enough to break thousands of play-ground sticks and pencils we-the-kids used to brag about, and that's good because I need something, anything, to be proud of.
My legs are long enough to run run run run until I can't breathe anymore and
My lungs are weak weak weak weak enough to wheeze until I can't run anymore.
And that's nice, because I'm not sure I'd stop running unless I had to.
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Painful Truths
PoesíaLife asked Death, "Why do people love me but hate you?" and Death replied, "Because you are a beautiful lie and I am a painful truth." (completed) Well. Poems, if you could call them that. Just rambled and rushed night time thoughts. Some of these a...
