A key,
A pen,
some lines, a thought
And my pain.

Hit and bruise
Concrete walls
Yellow, green and ****** thoughts
But you're already dead.

I didn't had the pleasure
But I'm still glad you did your time
Before you went and died.

The cynical kids with their cynical minds
and the rebel actions, are just looking for distractions
you can't see it cause they mask it
but they're hurting in their hearts.

You won't let them be
cause you don't understand
you have never been so low
that you start drowning in the pain
but they have,
and they feel dead inside
so they spray paint your walls
and break the windows of your cars
so they can take their minds
off of the things that **** inside.

Never fall in love with a poet
for their words are sometimes lies
on occasions they're a shield
on occasions a disguise

They will take you on a journey
upon which they bare their soul
in a bid to ease your burdens
in a bid to make you whole

But in every word they choose
for the stories that they tell
lies a little piece of heaven
and a little piece of hell

Tormented souls we poets are
sometimes quite broken and despaired
in search of lost expressions
missed by others who once cared

Never fall in love with a poet
unless you're prepared to share their pain
to hold them close on the darkest nights
over and again

Not a day goes by
that I don't think your name,
that I don't see your face,
that I don't feel your kiss,
you're everything to me
and I wasn't good enough.

There are some things I can't erase
your memory is one of them
and I wish you'd have stayed
but I was never quiet the best.

Now you run along
calling someone else perfection
while I sit around here
waiting for a way to obliterate your sensations.

The opposite of love
is the need for it
and what causes it
is the split between our sheets.

I miss you when you're here
and I want you to stay
but I want you to go
cause at least when you're gone
I can explain why I feel this way
like we're miles apart when
you're right by my side.