Love is the conniving wolf dressed as an innocent sheep.

In deepest regret I keep my debts,
Knowing one day I will die

If that day comes today,
I want you to know that I died full of lies

For a traitor is he,
Who follows unknown,
Into the darkest secrets of the mind

But let me tell you a tale,
Of great wit and wisdom,
The only thing I'm sure will survive

A tip of a tear,
A groan of a wolf,
The howling of the unsound moon,

That is where the treasure lies,
A sorrow is a true boon.

Bipolar Hypocrite,
First, let me just say,
Everytime I see your *name
It brightens my day
I've read a *LOT of your poetry
I can't say I've read them all
But I Will get to them eventually
My amount of *free time is small
I'm sorry I don't have the time
To write a long drawn out essay
About how your poetry really speaks to me
But to you, I will simply say:

I'm sorry for the sadness you've felt
I truly know how hard life can be
But I'm so glad you found an outlet in writing
And that you continue to share your poetry
I thank you for that, all your comments on mine as well
Please, remember that you've touched at least one girl
I'll be here if you'd ever like to chat or vent
I can also promise, you WILL
find your happiness in this world

I'm so glad you've found a place here on Hello Poetry
Never Forget you're amazing
And that you have made an impression on me.

PS. I know how you love my italics and bold, I figured to use them, hope it's not getting old. :)


Lots Of Love,
*Melz

You can't hate someone
just because
you can't have them.*

-Adele

11/3/14

Pull my strings
my puppet master
Lift my feet
and walk faster

Set the stage
make the scene
Raise the curtain
going to please

Music plays
Hit the spot
White light flash
Devious plot

Applause is heard
Silence beckons
Disbelief
All is reckoned

Made you smile
or made you cry
Drop my strings
The puppet died

the veins
on my hand
look like road maps
and still, I’ve been trying
to follow my heart home.
the road map of veins end
at my forearm
where I’ve etched your name
countless times
with shards of stained glass.
home isn’t where the heart is.