Make-up won't make you pretty,
a smile will.

It starts with curiosity;
fascination,
admiration,
affixation.
Excitement and expectation.
Fondly falling for flutterings.
Paying too much attention to alterations.
Getting hung up on fluctuations.

It turns into frustration.
Feelings of inadequacy.
Indignation.
Self-abasement.
Fear and loathing.
Dread.

Followed by annoyance.
Re-evaluation.
Revulsion.
Remembering what's important.

It ends with indifference;
over it.
Free again,
thank goodness.

Her feline inspired lines are amongst the best,
but she's still a cat lady, nonetheless.

A hermit's heart may weigh lighter than the feather,
but he's spent all his days longing for something better.

The lonely are often alone by choice -
that's the way it seems to me, at least.
I'll take to writing and forgo my voice;
plan it out while I walk down lonesome streets.

I think of your poems when I'm in a crowd.
I memorize your lines and recite them out loud
into a sea of unsuspecting faces,
so that they fall in love with words, like I did yours;
strung together by the wisdom of your golden graces.

I want to bask in the glory of sharing your story,
and celebrate tonight in honor of you.
If I make your poetry a part of my life,
can I become a part of yours too?

I will tell you of their laughter and smiles.
How they wept, danced, rejoiced -
how the whole crowd went wild.

I want you to hear of their praises because I think you're divine.
I'll spend the rest of my days writing odes of thanks.
Forever indebted to you and your kind
for letting your words become mine.

I want to delete every ******* poem I wrote about you, but I can't bear to delete them, I'll just lose the memory of what it felt like to be in love.

I'm not worthy
Not even a penny
I could die anyday
No one cares anyway
I'm just dust metal that rust
Slowly dying so why keep trying
I gave it all I got faught hit the spot
Only to rot when I was shot
I ******* hate myself
I wish I never met you
I rather feel nothing
Than something at all

Maybe I'm a little twisted and dark,
But I thought you liked it that way.
So I play with scissors and knives and darts...
Is the blood on the wall too much for you?
Is the blood on the wall too much for you?
I draw graphic stabbings and maimings,
You never said you liked your girls sweet.
Why did you ask for fresh strawberries?
I've always been more of a rotten lemon.
How was I to know you wanted a nice girl,
When you always loved to call me a ***** girl?
I thought I was your dark girl, dark angel.
You used to love the way I wanted to bite,
Bite you until I made you bled warm and red.
Now when I write you notes about butchering,
You abandon ship off the starboard side.
I wanted us to drown together darling,
But I suppose I can drown you alone...