Gold can hold its weight but you can’t hold your own
Fools coin in your purse, I think I, found who cast the first stone
Ten years older and you still don’t live on your own
Bottomless cup but you never filled it
Take your emotions and, bottle up
I hope you, “bottoms up” till you lose feeling
Cheap whisky made you warm up
Bet I got you thinkin as if it matters anymore, boy you’re sweatin’
Spilt your cup, I got you pouring
Most the time this sites annoying, buncha pent emotion placed aside like a toy, that barrel of feelings is pulsing
The slump ain’t the issue, just don’t stay it, correct your posture and keep pushing off the pavement, It’s time I dip, my toll is your time and thank you for the payment
Sep 4, 2020
Sep 4, 2020 at 1:33 AM UTC
The poet stood their, defeated, harrowed by how he was wrong, dead yet still hung on the last sound , not able to let all his limbs slip into the void, but you see the poet needs to let go, the poet needs to understand that all mistakes will be known as something of the past but will be forgotten far before rhythm
Who’s to say, that no matter how reality checks out, we’ll be thinking something different, could you think it? Or is it rather holding a gift you don’t want, who’s to say the tangents are beauty if that’s tangible by the eye of the observer you see that must be beautiful, the poet struggles to imagine the idea of starting off the wrong foot
The poet stood their, thinking, how much muddier is it gonna get before I can have an opinion, how many times are you going to tell me why he killed him, but the poet doesn’t care for cause or reason, the poet sees that body, and lays a flower on it.
We seem to hate each other yet we all run from death, and the killer cried, who’s the one with the bloodied knife, I’ll **** you! , and the victim will scream ****** but the killer gets away, just for new white gloves to comes to get stained and
the observer stood there, crying...
You see the poet thinks, it’s bad to wrap yourself in lines you pretend can’t break, cause when you shed them, what’s left?
The poet stood their, spitting, what if I’ve already told you this one, as he sat their thinking of what to spit.
Jun 6, 2020
Jun 6, 2020 at 5:06 AM UTC
For almost 2 days, now, I have been wondering what has been going on.
I can't upvote and comment on poems, and most poems that I see posted have no view counts.
By now one would have hoped that the fallen would gotten back on their feet.
I just wish there was a voice out there, somewhere, instead of speculating.
Logan Robertson
6/02/20
Jun 3, 2020
Jun 3, 2020 at 4:46 AM UTC
Skin peeling off
Apple core rotted in a crack den
Needles for stems and the seeds are much better off
One’s barely on the tree and the other already fell off
Bitter taste left on the grass but there’s still time to grow
Winter just ended and everyone’s waiting to be blown away
May 23, 2020
May 23, 2020 at 11:30 AM UTC
Perfection is a beautiful thing
Something we’ve always been fascinated by
But there is a subjective to every true perfection
To many, it’s a god, the true perfection, the one we’ve sacrificed love and life for
To some, a way of living, believing that we as humans, we can reach true perfection
But is there even a true perfection?
May 5, 2020
May 5, 2020 at 9:38 PM UTC
Simplicity’s a mistress I won’t sleep with
A fine line between quality and quantity can often be read in the lines of what a poet says
Though most people can’t get past two lines or achieve either
So call me jealous, I’ll call you shallow
Mar 11, 2020
Mar 11, 2020 at 5:26 AM UTC
I’ll wear my heart on my sleeves so when I sleep I can feel the weight of my soul but I don’t hear a beat
I hear a scream, it says
Let me spread my wings, set me free
Don’t hold me down, just let me seek
My brightest thoughts, my darkest hours
I didn’t live if I died a coward, but I’m buried alive
My flame will burn through my coffin and only get brighter
Till Im tired of this rock and go among the other lights
I’m a star you should look up at
Mar 10, 2020
Mar 10, 2020 at 12:04 PM UTC
Drunk and stumbling to my room again
I think somethings broken but I can’t feel what’s sinking in
My head’s killing me, I feel heat against my skin
But before know it , Im falling over myself
Didn’t even notice I was looking ceiling
Heeling it to the dresser
Pick it up and put it against the side of my head
That’s it, I’ve had it, I admit, I’m an addict
Can’t even make it through one shot without thinking about my bad habits
Dial up 911, take the safety off and squeeze th-
Feb 14, 2020
Feb 14, 2020 at 3:10 AM UTC
A pure soul bares used fangs with blood dripping down their lips while they carry a soft smile knowing know one saw what they did
To that husk devoid of a soul with two holes left in their heart knows pain yet that wasn’t what left them for dead
That was left to knowing they didn’t die after the tragedy and that the rest only hold fury toward them just because the husk won’t pretend to have a heart left in their chest.
Nov 24, 2019
Nov 24, 2019 at 4:03 AM UTC
Black silk veils the kings
Under prestige and pride they walk across the broken lands of their people
Coated with bloodstained gold for crowns
And a soft echo wakes in every step they take, never truly waking the villagers nearby
As they walk past their burning kingdoms they hold their heads above all others
For that is the life of a king.
Aug 19, 2019
Aug 19, 2019 at 5:20 AM UTC