I hoped that you’d feel remorse one day
And you’d stop, break down, keep away
So I wouldn’t have to strategically
Position my scarf, because frankly
People started noticing, it started last last week
Started noticing the bruises that ran just under my cheek
And they ask, “What happened? Did you get in a row?”
I should’ve told, would’ve told, but didn’t know how
Well it was too late from our first kiss
And it was too late to stop the dramatic end
It didn’t work when we were passionate lovers
So now I’ll be your closest friend
I know you never stop by my place
Never spare it a glance
But I believe in grey people
So I’ll give you a chance
I admit you were clever
In your endeavour
Never gave them a clue
To what you would do
You might ask me if it was painful
If the blood flowed out with what comfort was left
No, it wasn’t, dear, just shameful
That I couldn't hold on for one more breath
The cover-up, the cover-up,
I’ll give you points for that
The knife went in a drawer
And you burnt my bloodstained hat
There were no telling fingerprints
And you threw your gloves away
They never found out through searching
And never will they.
So now you’re hitting it up with girl from town
I’ve grown fond of her, she won’t go down
I’ll whisper in your ear ’til your punches get lighter
I’ll snarl during the bloodbath you’re a coward, not a fighter
Well it was too late from your first uppercut
Too late to stop the blood-ravaged end
It didn’t work when we were painfully lovers
So now I’ll be your only friend
I know you never stop by my tombstone
Never spare it a mournful glance
But I believe in changed people
So I’ll give you a chance
And I’m not dead
‘Cause death is choice
And I’d much rather be a voice
In your head.
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AN: Ah, the tragedy of writer's block. I could be stuck for days and days then suddenly belt out a poem in ten minutes. Never mind.
Inspiration: I thought up the last verse while listening to a Remembrance Day service. Months fly by, and it has taken an entirely different context.
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Anarchy
PoetryAnarchy. A swirl of topics: emotions, allusions to history, social issues... And somewhere in the maelstrom comes forth rhymes and prose. Note: If you can't be bothered to read all the poems (quite understandably), I've starred the better ones.