Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Jake Apr 2017
0-1
I ****** you in the same bed that you wake up so in love with him every morning.
Jake Aug 2016
Do you have no reason to write?
Do the wrists that flowed like rivers stay bound?

Do you have no reason to sing?
And do the lips that sang my name stay locked to someone else's?



Reason.
Jake Aug 2016
Rest, there's nothing left but to sleep.
Rest, there's nothing left but to sleep.

You remain captive inside a tomb.
A shell bearing the heart and soul.
Hollow, worn, and growing weak.
Everyday we're growing weak as;

Pale eyes carry light from within.

We can't exit life as it is.
Frail bones cracked, digging in.
Breathing life into disease again.

Swiftly it die, everything crumbles; a landslide.
Panic of the mind, all feeling subside.
Evils unseen, flooding lives; fear clings, death sings.
Begging on our knees for one moment of peace.

Why can't I feel this?
Why is this consuming me?
Why can’t I feel this?
What is this haunting me?
We're all trying to feel something more than this.
We're all dying to feel more human than this.

A wretched world spins 'round,
The spark of life is crushed inside our chests.

Defenseless to the grips of time.
So rest, and drift cured eternally.

Rest.

You'll remain captive inside a tomb

Pale eyes carry light from within.
Smother life inside our chest.

Weep.
Weep.
Weep.
Weep.
Jake May 2016
I've become a stranger to letting my wrists do the talking.
Words like drool from the corner of my lips,
and feelings of insignificance since I've been gone.

Though I feel more refined, there are wounds that are bleeding out,
and I'm still tending to the ruptures, while pinching off your thought.

The calming touch, withered and pale if I tried to describe it.
Cold, uninspired, as we run from it.
Jake Apr 2016
These days are wasted,
rotting on a box of cotton.

These days are wasted,
drawing chalk outlines on old words.

These days are wasted,
on 211 and hateful thoughts.

These days are wasted,
as stories with no titles.
Jake Mar 2016
Dead man, he walk alone.
Ripping at skin and bone.

Stifled by the comfort of shadow, his
Dead eyes fixed upon the horizon, they
Reveal everything that consume him, ******
Concealing evils with each movement.

Dead man, you are alone.
To bleed the lands in search of home.

These eyes are dead.

These eyes are dead.

These eyes are dead.

We're slaves to the numb.
Jake Jan 2016
P&J
You give me nothing
To share in the moments
That rip us apart
Next page