there's rhythm
in your fall.

your defeat is so graceful.

--- like a poem

The old poet and red wine

                     The old man gets up early in the morning; he doesn’t
                     eat breakfast but drink coffee, switch on the computer
                    look at the blank screen waiting for a word to come
                    so he can try writing a poem; it is a hard going so he
                    mounts his training bike and get some exercise.
                   Noon is the best time of the day; he walks to his café
                   have a good meal and a jug of red wine, which puts
                  him in a good mood and talk to the old men in the park,
                 Sometimes one of them say something interesting he
                can use when writing. The old poet knows his best
                work is behind him, but he still tries to tease another
               poem out of his mind. His evening meal is simple he opens
                a tin of soup and drink a few glasses of red wine watch
                TV, or makes comments on the Twitter.

If a tree falls in a forest
Does it make a sound
When the woods are open and
There's only three people around

One of them remembers it
As clear as it was day
Yet as to wether it was real or a dream
She cannot really say

The second has no memory
But he wouldn't say it didn't occur
And he has the vauge memories of after
When little echoes could be heard

And the third may know the answer
But the other two can't ask
Because going down that road
Is taking the devil out of the flask

So did the tree really fall?
Or more important still
Can anything they remember be trusted
Wen they tell their stories as they will

You built me up
Just to shoot me down
Breaking me past shattered
Shattering me beyond broke

Like Humpty Dumpty
Doomed to never recover.
Except the walls were my own
And you gave me the push

You made me feel
Like I was the Queen
But I was nothing more
Than a pawn
In your sick games.

How naive I must've been
To believe in the illusion of love
Your poisonous words
Like honey on my skin

Now I cut off the poison
And distanced myself from you
The feeling of losing a limb
Along with my mind

My heart aching,
My body shaking,
My lips yearning for you
Yet there's nothing left
For anything
Or anyone
So I scream
And scream
And scream
And scream

Till there's nothing left
But the lost tears of my childhood,
Your tainted things crashed against the wall,
A Shadow,
My demons,
And **I

We all have been there. Don't we?
Addicted to something that leaves us for no good.
And maybe we are all guilt ridden of some chapters we don't read out loud.
When everything hurts, every **** thing.

When you were nervous to walk out, afraid to suffer,
reluctant to meet new people.
When you try to pull with one hand,
but are forced to push with the other.
We all have been there, don't we?

When you were unable to turn your emotions down,
and anxiety ruled over you,
so you decided to disguise your love. When you were too tired of chasing things,
and getting knocked down every time, so you decided to walk away.
We all have been there, don't we?