Old streets, old spit stains, stain your shoe
Loved ones can make it worth it, but never will the straw always be straight
Streets speak a million of languages, and that's my favorite part
The chipped chalk resembles the German soldiers
Who once stomped, walked, and ran these streets.
We don't need to worry about any catastrophes raining down on us.
Say, we can't keep an image of ourselves perfect as people portray us as, what will you do?
neither you or I will change that
Say, the 18th floor, room 33D contains memories only adults can relate to, can you make some time for some cup of coffee?
You obviously want your loved one by your side, wishing it wasn't just for lust.
It's been a while since anything original has been spoken about you, and that's rumors stacked on other false claims, nobody's going to demolish your heart.
Say, you can't keep an image of yourself at a close range. Stare from afar, for your only true recognition
will prosper.
These fine walls that hold you, and the world separated was the best thing to happen to you.
Can't hold you down with a pitchfork, a muddy scene along with my sobriety will intoxicate me.
destroy my, faithless beliefs
You were in a church, but you are a sinner.
You son of a bitch.
I don't excuse my French, say oui to my statement like a chimpanzee
Dirtier than a 40 year old canned fart.
I know you're far too smart, sleep it away, you just don't know how smart you truly are walking around like that.
YOU ARE READING
Thursday
PoetryThe depths of my mind and dialogue of it all. My thoughts. My fakeness. My lies. My confessions. My Raw mental conversations. My weakness. My complicated life. The nonsense that creeps up in my head when I'm thinking. There is no need to understan...
