Months ago Feels like years Remember nights like these Where we would talk about anything Nothing in particular You'd go on and on And I'd listen On nights like these. I never would've thought Right then, in that very moment That one day We'd no longer Share nights like these.
A bottle in your hand, Slurring, shouting, and sobbing as loud as a band. Making scenes, and dramatic land. Spending and losing over a grand. Putting your whole life into the bottle, never gave a minute towards the sand. Pick it up, watch it run through your hand. A fool you make yourself, squinting all you can. Never understood why you thought that fear made you a man.
A poem about the green light that glares in my grandmother's kitchen at night when all lights are shut off. The bulb is green and all is silent. Here in this kitchen; this house, so much has happened. I've seen things I wish I never did. There in the green light. A window at the entrance is where I used to look through all the time and think about running away. For the last part of the poem, I am referencing my grandfather who passed away in this house. His bed is near the kitchen and his presence is still eerily felt.
Loneliness encasing me And closing all around me Falling into the depths of great defeat And no one can hear me Mistakes being made are those of a weaker mind And a weaker heart Or so told in the dark and made into art Here is the product Of a time long lost A battle never defeated and memories not gone A clock to be heard ticking away But all silence is remained A tear receding into below Yet once was a glow And learned is the fact You cannot outrun the past Hiding in your own cave The past is the present now made