A poets heart Is that of torn and tattered pages Filled with words that beg to be expressed That most will deny, and keep repressed So filled with vengeful hate, Twisted love, Sweat-breaking fear, Painful anger, Created not by the friends they keep close But the demons they host My heart is that of a poet Cold, but true And if you understand what the demons mean, Well then You might be one too.
i want a new name a new birth a new childhood a new poison a new addiction a new lust a new love a new confusion a new heartbreak a new hatred a new suicide i want a new name
I don't remember how to write poems anymore. This is a ******* list. I hate my name, I want a new one. And George has decided to be particularly cruel tonight.