The evil stare in her eyes so subtle
A queen bee and her others
Weak brain washed little things
Hover always besides her
She keeps me away
Like Rapunzel stuck in her melancholy castle
But your mother keeps me away
But she always has an excuse
The queen bee grew tired of me
So she drove me to my death
Alone was Rapunzel
And I was no more
And that's how your
Mother killed me
I hope she's happy
I haven't seen her in so long I feel like just giving up. Can I just run away and never come back?
I don't know what to write
But do I have something to say?
Life isn't really going well, I mean no ones life is
All I do is rant about how I'm tired of living but what good does that do to me?
I just gave up on my whining on my sadness
Ranting about the world no point to it at all
So I just live until death takes me away
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
Follow me on Twitter @athomashawkins
little dark girl with
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
who made me laugh
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
pleasure over your soft voice is everything to keep me sane
but you'll be gone for days
your haunting smile constantly in my messed up brain
my blood runs cold when i see your pale face
you're going away
to the rubber room
full of melancholy minds in grim walls
you said don't worry
you'll be okay, you say
you say you'll get better and smile
and then you kiss my neck
my girlfriend will be leaving tomorrow to a mental hospital.
I needed to express my self.
Stuck in Limbo, an eternity of rain and coldness.
Puffy eyes, runny nose are how I look everyday.
I lose passion for strumming melancholy rhythms in this guitar .
I lose passion for creating and alternate reality were I play God and create my nature and arts.
I lose passion for creating stories with better worlds.
I lose passion for waking up in the mornings with no purpose.
I lose passion for breathing.
Lose passion for speaking.
No passion for living.
No passion at all.
I've been listening to flatsound and dandelion hands a lot.
— The End —