You said:
“I’m sick of poetry.
I bet the first poet was ******
But they all just copied him.”
I said that
Poetry wasn’t like that
It was words spilling
From an overfilled glass;
They staggered and slurred
On the page until
They seemed to have a meaning.
And you said:
“Exactly.”

maybe i fell  in  love  with the
way  you  would  look  at  me
and look away when i caught
you staring or maybe i fell  in
love  with  your   smile  when
you felt brave enough to keep
your gaze and maybe i fell  in
love   with   your  demanding
personality and your reckless
ability to abandon everything
or  maybe  i  fell  in  love with
your     dreams,     fears     and
twisted    thoughts   and   you
only   fell   in   love   with  my
s      u      r        f       a      c      e

Money isn't free
Money is imaginary
There is no crime
It's all in your mind
Money was never real
Money only has us killed

They say it's never too late
But for me,
Im way too late
You can't here me now
No matter how loud I say these three word
I lost my last chance
All i can do now
Is to cry infront of your grave
Feeling the pain alone