im tired of faking
i wanna get up in the morning
and feel honestly alone

not like this
not looking without seeing
not hearing without knowing

this poem *****
its two in the morning
and i'm tired

what the hell is a triplet
these lines without meaning
so vague

What is love; useless;

you write delicately
as if words could carry emotion
amidst their vowels.

It sounds awkward;
the letters weigh down my tongue
With their blunt and jagged
syllables;

It is not real poetry;
It is the realest poetry.

O scream, you'll find no salvation,
(you have not sinned,
there is no sin)
There is no 'salvation';
no hope for the angels;
no hope for the ******

you kept trust folded up
in your pocket like
a foreign currency.
it's useless in your country,
you explain

but i am caught up in
the language barrier,
the strangeness of your world
and your words

I never thought you were a hero but
at one point i thought
you were a real person.
imagine my dissapointment
as the mask fell off when you screamed

i'm sorry but i found your reply rather vague;
i wasn't at all sure whether your 'yes' meant yes
or if perhaps it meant no
so i stood there tearing an orange apart with my fingernails
scattering bits of skin,
bright against the pale grey of the ground, thinking
maybe it didn't really matter after all

so the truth is during class today i was going to pass you a note.
a small folded piece of paper with words, you know? it summed up
everything i was holding in my head. it was like i was balancing a huge bowl of water,
and just one more thought would make it spill.

so i guess i went about it the wrong way, but i waited for ages
and you never turned around. so i threw a pen
but you woulden't even look at me

and that's how i got my answer and everything overflowed
and i was left standing there with an empty bowl
and a million questions i didn't know how to ask