you can't run forever
you have to face your demons sometime
you're running out of places to hide from them
your closet can't hold your skeletons forever
the cat's out of the bag
granted, the cat's dead
but you can't live in a cemetery
sleeping on graves and killing flowers
songs that make you cut
blood that makes you cry
emotions that make you remember
memories that make you wish you were in the coffins six feet below you
the collision of the sun with the sky
makes your eyes water
in a way that nothing ever could
and you know that you're going to die
don't be scared
just own up to the fact
that you're a leaking faucet
and there's no-one around to fix you
the stains won't come out
no matter how much you scrub
you're tired, i can tell
lay your head down and sleep
try not to wake up
YOU ARE READING
A Little Thing Called Death
Poesíai won't explain many of these. they are for you to work out and they'll probably mean something different to everyone. (i own these poems) ((FINISHED.))
