Arising, like a blank canvas in the morning
Dreams engulfing a determined goal
Knowing wishing that we'll never no.
I bet its nice
I better try
As someone gets eaten by the glare of a monitor
As another is dying for their honor
As another's going into the woods with a knife and a offer.
Learning things we don't want to know
Hearing lip-less words on the radio
Then again only anyone hated well by life itself would ever know.
Money-less, started the day anew
Sinning to lazy, because their is nothing i'm meant to do
Would this feeling be better expressed, with the lowly illustration
"I'm so lonely" suggests?
Or the speaking of a harpy
That enters the mind like a heartbeat.
Like a irrefutable ill-gotten fact
Of having your eyes ripped and pulled out
Then it all would fade to bLaCK
Glass at your feet
Need something to eat
Feel the lusty rivets of the concert
The barrage of words that you will get tomorrow
Then again only those of you that are hated well by life itself would ever know.
With a flash of blinding light
Then it all would fade to wHiTE
On and on and on
I continue circling
With nothing but this pain
And a river of agony
Till slowly I forget and my brain undoes itself
Then I see that I can't break free.
As we age, a day comes where we
Fester and grow like a falling leaf
Carried down without a clue that we ever breathed.
But then again only those like me hated well by life itself would ever know.
Why we can understand "Goodbye" means "Leave me alone"
These chaotic strings that go in hand
Turning like a toxic vapor blowing into a fan
Hated well by life itself, we'll never know
What makes the meaning matter why we die alone!
I just never know!
Someone can you tell me so....
The glass falling onto land
Like tasty ice on my hand.
Or a suicide vest,
Its funny and its sad I guess.
This transmutation hurting like a lasting conjuration
Of some crazy configuration
That the angels themselves have weaved
Staring at a blank screen.
Doo doo doo
Haha
I can't stop yawning
This classroom's the same every day
Looking like a fly
But I can't even say if I hate them to their face.
Hmm
My eyes?
Where are they?
A per-textured dyes.
Glass and ice look really similar
Like a planned sinoper.
Well only us hated well by life itself would ever know.
The end to this catapulting fling
I cut this Chaotic String.
YOU ARE READING
My Poem Dumpster
PoésieWelcome to the Poem Dumpster! The name pretty much explains it all. This is just going to be the place where I put some of the dozens of poems that I used to make instead of just deleting them. They aren't good, I already know that. I stopped doing...
