And so now it comes to pass
Seventeen times around the sun
Seventeen winters and seventeen springs
A symbol of hope and wonderful things
The World Is Upon Me
Why do I write poems? Is it for expression? Is it for attention? For a girl?
Do I write out of a sense of obligation? Boredom? Pain?
Is there some ulterior motive? Something sinister and obscure?
Or is it that I just want to be accepted?
The reason why is always changing.
Do we watch **** because we are vile and perverted? Or maybe we just want to feel good? Feel something. Anything.
The reason why is not important. It is inconsequential. Trite.
Reasoning defies action, and action defines your character.
So who are you? Are you my reason, reader? Are you the reason that defies my action? Are you the reason I have no character? The reason I fear?
The reason I’m here?
Superficial feelings: a high of great command;
Introspective warfare in the palm of your hand.
Today I realized that I am only pixels on your screen. Merely a background character who you will forget in a matter of days.
I have lost count of the times
where I have seen your face
out of the corner of my eye
but I can’t bring myself
to turn around because I know
that I am seeing what I want to see
and nothing more.
I’m spending tonight like I always do. (missing you)
A raindrop rolls down my window and I can’t help but link it to you.
(like I do everything else)
It takes everything in me not to just wipe it away. To kiss it away. To lick every single rain drop until the sky heaves in numbness. To just call you.
take me in
six inches deeper
my cold blade yearns to rust inside your heart
feel my pain
before the blood dries
I want to be the one to drain the color from your eyes
Please don’t post spur-of-the-moment poetry on the internet where thousands of people could potentially view it...
You’re so welcome,
P.S. Good luck with, well, you know what.