Little psycho killer
you never laid a hand on anyone
No one faded beneath your boot
But you struck down hope's quiet army
That tomorrow would be a new day
You were a powerhouse in your antithesis
Of your unwanted present
And your demanded future
When did you crash into the dark
My beautiful schizophrenic
The trip of my mind,
the flip of my heart
Where did the crazy come from
My hirsute assassin
There would've been a place in this life
If we were a tenth of our promises
You would've been as vital to me
As the air I breathe
But we burned our bridges
And drowned our history in fire
Lit matches
Shattered all that was left
3/31/13
YOU ARE READING
Typed Word Series
PoetryWords connect all of us. Through laughter, memories, or ridiculous melancholy, we are what we say and what we write. TWS differs from WWS in form only. These are poems longer than 7 lines, allowing a little more freedom in exploring themes and more...
