With a chill down my spine,
Laughing and crying and secretly dying.
Seeing a clock tick through
A quarter past nine.
Seeing life simplifying.
Not for me
Like nothing has been for me these days.
Numbers are what's keeping me alive.
For I am not more than a psycho,
Addicted to the ciphers.
Seeking blood
Washed away from my fingers.
Scraping off mud
Between the spaces that demand to be filled.
Filling is the thing I can't offer,
My dearest.
Filling is the only thing I won't be able to miss.
YOU ARE READING
The Rainy Days Of Life - an Abundance of Poems
PoetrySome thingies might be inspired by song lyrics. Don't panic. (We aren't in the disco after all) Take a chill pill. I won't offend your favourites. A lot of it is bad. A lot of it is 'meh' Like every 3 to 5 per 20 is like 'Good' But good is very sub...
