First night not full of terrors in years. Are these dreams worse? Nights full of things you know you can never have. Lust for life when you don't know what you're doing and can't control yourself most of the time is confusing. I may not be falling apart, but I am a conceded mess. Conceited as they come because all I write about lately is myself, and you of course. All I hope is that my selfish love doesn't drive you away someday. I guess poetry is about expressing feelings though. Cold hands with bad verses show that I am self destructive.
Don't know exactly what to do ever, nor do I care. My selfish love. I only exist while dancing under the pale moonlight, mimicking shadows and speaking out. My whole life is a trigger warning, but I no longer care about how others feel about me.
Finally accepting that I'm loved and trying to not give away so much. Lonely in my own mind, trying to take the world and make it kind. Not a philosopher obviously, but the whole point of life is to be remembered, survive, and have a good time. All with my selfish love. -FFK
YOU ARE READING
3:37am
PoetryOriginal poems and truths for the broken and lonely. Mostly inspired from books.
