Words hit hard when they are aimed for your head
A melancholy would say otherwise
Not a soul knows the real power of these words
Not even i know the meaning at this point in time
Perhaps that is for the best, ignorance is bless
Especially when you're the one holding the knife
Maybe it's a sad love story that ends with the girl dying
Or maybe is the thriller we cram in theatres to see
This is the sad truth of our lives
Meaningless and cold
This is how i deal
A poem is like the answer to a riddle you've spent years working on
A poem is the wind in my sails
A poem is the first breath and the last
My poems are sad and dark
But so is the world
Poetry is leaving hate at the door
Or inviting it in
Opening the window only to see yet another
Poetry is wandering through your house while the funeral is next door
This is the poetry i have succumb to
