It’s 2 AM,
I’m laying on your floor.
Reaching up to feel your skin,
Drifting off listening to you breathe.

You look so peaceful,
Like some type of resting angel.
Your sleepy kisses,
And your drowsy smirk.

Now I fall asleep on your floor,
One day we will have our own bed.
So much on my mind I want to tell you.
Goodnight Ms Believer.
I love you forever and always.
I’ll see you when we awake.

I was not born a

poet.

I was broken into

one.


*Sandoval

Cigarettes taste like fireworks
And my throat is raw
From nights well spent
And I'm exhausted
But I'm living
And I'm broke
But I'm living
And what is life
If all I do is wait to die
And I'm living
But so unhappy
And nothing soothes me
I'm stuck and
Wandering
Wondering
Love is so gone and
I am here waiting
And spending my nights well
But ultimately
Still
Waiting
Because what is life
If not just waiting to die.
The alcohol is so metallic
And I can still remember too much
Of each blurry night
And I'm ******
But I'm living
And I'm drunk
But I'm living
And I'm a *****
But ******* it I'm living
I'm just waiting
Waiting to die
And I'm stuck
And I'm wandering
Wondering

Your poetry's a symphony
Every line a new note.
You voice weaves a melody
Each syllable brings hope.
For poets have a magic
No other artist knows.
A way with emotions
A window to souls.

Sometimes I want to scream, break, and cry
tearing out hair, wailing; begging to die.
Sometimes I want to curse, yell, and divide
sick of hiding in night; my brilliance passed by.
Sometimes I want to shine, a different kind of bright
stuck among shadows; thieves of my light.
But at the end of the day; I let that all go,
there's no use dwelling on "I could but I don't".

Sure
It's easy to see broken clocks
aren't ticking
but I prefer broken people
Clocks get stuck
in their last instant
At least people keep on living