You've got a target on your back, son, and I've got a loaded gun,
But you don't deserve the satisfaction, I'd rather sit back and watch you run.
My bullets are nothing, but so are you, you'll run away because it's all you do;
You disappearing isn't something new, I wish you were someone I never knew.
You're not worth the words I write, nor or you worth the effort of a fight,
You are like a dreaded blight; a terrible shadow that blocks the light.
You aren't worth my words yet I write them still, the thought of you, I'd love to kill,
I'd love to forget but I doubt I will, my emptiness, I cannot fill.
YOU ARE READING
An Amalgamation of Words
PoetryI'm almost as bad at writing descriptions as I am at writing poems, but at least I tried. Sharing my inner turmoil, one poorly worded sentence at a time.
