It's funny how you're no longer attractive to me
because my week with you was laced with an ennui
that I could not foresee
and was forced to oversee
your drug-induced reveree.
It's funny because you think you're a player,
but you've got only one layer,
which acts as a disclaimer
to your vacant container
of empty and witless charm.
You seem to ooze smarm
to those who haven't been darned
with knowing the feel of your arm
in their, and you always seem lost
and somehow aloft
but I think that's just because of your recent list
for a drug that breeds mistrust.
I'm not saying you can't get high,
or that I don't have the supply,
but I can't understand why
I could never verify
and ounce of sobriety in you
in the week we went through.
If this is a preview
of your future revenue,
I don't want this friendship to ensue.
Mar 22, 2012
Mar 22, 2012 at 4:36 PM UTC
Words don't really do you justice, do they?
Eyes like a cat,
the shade I'd imagine when the characters in my books had green eyes,
and skin almost as pale as Snow White's.
But innocence,
such as Snow White's,
is something you never had.
Your soul,
beaten down as a child
by a father who didn't know how to love.
We met in fifth grade,
when you were simple,
I was new,
and the world was infinite.
You're not simple anymore.
You're more complex that the universe itself.
You have entire worlds behind your eyelids,
but they're shrouded in darkness.
I'm not new anymore.
I'm getting older, mature, experienced.
I have lived through your lies
and survived your surroundings.
The world isn't infinite anymore.
It's very limited.
It has seen us grow and drift apart.
But despite our changes,
you are always there.
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 10:19 PM UTC
Don't push me.
I am a force to be reckoned with.
My words can castrate you,
decapitate you,
depreciate you.
Don't push me.
My words are a hurricane
that will rip down the house
you've built on your righteous soul.
My words are a tsunami
that will sink the ship
you sail across your radical sea.
My words are a tornado
that will tear you straight
from your solid ground.
Don't push me.
I weave tales of anger and woe
that force themselves into your mind,
that break you from the inside,
tales that take you past
your comfort zone.
Don't push me.
I can make you fall with this poem.
I can make you cry with my story.
I can make you scream with a few words.
Don't push me.
I am a force to be reckoned with.
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 10:09 PM UTC