About Me

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I'm an open book here, and I have a lot to say, so I'll just say it.

Monday, October 15, 2012

They'll Lead You Nowhere but Jail.

She stood alone, watching closely,
quietly crying while he spent his last dime,
and planted the suitcase beneath the tree.

The sidewalk is pale and gray,
her body's cold as she's blown away.

He comes home, calls out his wife's name,
and angers, because no one came
there's this fact that he can't stand,
she died at the slight of his hand.

Friday, October 12, 2012

I Follow You on the Ground.

I felt boisterous and loud
just trying to cope with this self.

When truly I'm quiet and cautious
not beautiful or proud.
Nauseously knowing to you,
I've never existed.

My modesty makes me
like a shadow on the ground,
you'll never know I was ever around.

Monday, October 1, 2012

Panic Doesn't Speak, it Only Paints a Nightmare.

My room at the end of the hall-
painted blue and green
and with starry night dreams.

I sat at the desk in the corner,
and tried to dream of a future,
the still framed picture
which is no longer framed.

I was hidden away, stowed away
in my room at the end of the hall,
and the bed by the door never did
comfort me.

I want to destroy those walls
and rip them down
in a bare handed breakdown,
because a new coat of paint
isn't enough to remove the memory.

My room at the end of the hall,
is it still even a safe place at all?

You'll Never Feel the Way I Do, it's Not Possible.

Loneliness is a ride very few care to take,
it's a humble thing knowing that's who you are.

It's like a broken record,
repeating that thought over and over
until you're worn out,
and with all the feelings you must set aside
regardless their affection on your mood.

Tossing and turning all night,
shaking with every bit of energy in my body.
At times I wonder if it'll ever be possible to let go
of an old heart heavy as a cannon ball.

As if it wasn't already tiring, wrenching me,
I'll always be defected, it's something I've accepted.