Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Jul 2019 DC Hall
 Jul 2019 DC Hall
The coffee it helps,
Quench this dull headache,
I’ve had now for numerous days.
Too many late nights,
Ales and tablets,
I’ve burnt up my turn of phrase.

You ruthlessly call me,
And tell me quite firmly,
That this time it really is it.
I press the red button,
Dig my head in the pillow,
As the message it slowly transmits.

In this strange room,
I don’t at all recognise,
All this clutter surrounding the bed.
It makes no more sense,
Than the apathy circling,
In the nest at the front of my head.

I’ll lay here all day,
Until this numb goes away,
And motivation returns to my bones.
The air here is stagnant,
It’s so hard to drift off,
When dragged back by one's slatternly clothes.
Do you ever wish
that you could disappear?
Just grab your keys and
get the hell out of here?

I’m tired of this town
and I’m sick of this place
where on every single corner,
all I see is your face.

You’ve tattooed each
block, landmark, and street
with memories of us
and what we used to be.

It’s like walking through
an abandoned graveyard,
each store is a headstone
memorializing my heart’s scars.

My foot is heavy on the pedal
in search of somewhere new,
somewhere with a slate wiped
clean of any traces of you.
I actually wrote this after my first boyfriend and I split up when I was sixteen. Just now posting it. Hope someone can maybe relate.
 Jul 2019 DC Hall
 Jul 2019 DC Hall
Oh, it's just another day
Yeah, I guess they're all the same
Except that now
I can see how
All those ****** love songs sound
Beautiful, and I'm not stressed out
All I wanna do is sing
Cause today I'm with you
And I have everything

I used to ask myself
Is it really worth the pain?
Cause day after day
My sorrow would remain
But you showed up like a gift of grace
And now I'm smiling every day
So I know I have to say it
Was worth it
Worth it
To stay
 Jun 2019 DC Hall
Bo Burnham
 Jun 2019 DC Hall
Bo Burnham
On a Wednesday morning, clear and calm,
                     I went to Astor Place
and had a gypsy read my palm
                     or maybe just my face.

She said my heart was heavy
                     and my head was stuffed with lies.
But things like that weren't on my hand,
                     they hid behind my eyes.

The room is dull and dank and cold but at
least I have a hand to hold.

— The End —