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philosoberPoems
I don't mind when it strikes and it hurts Eighty miles per hour It won't ache it won't irk Discover when you've been lied to And the ones with blood on their hands Just wipe it on your face and kiss your cheek I don't mind when it wounds and it shoots The alcohol tastes so sour Though it claws at the memory from its roots And the times spent in your room Dissolve with the tears from the fumes Sons of bedeviled thorns and pistols They take you in And they swallow you whole They take a shot At your chest, at your brain They take a shot And they can't really explain Hotels filled with lonely corpses A beautiful face seems the only source That might get you out of your mind When you are sick and you are lying Discover that the ones with blood on their hands Are the only ones who take a stand With their sins and knives behind their backs And a smile, and a laugh, You have to know where you're at You spell an apology letter by letter Yet the sky would know better Than to clear up on a day like today When it can strike your soul So fragile and so frail And your hands So skinny and so pale And your smell So old and so stale And your heart I can almost hear it fail There's no light at the end of that tunnel There's no mercy for merciless gunner Maybe next time they'll think ahead Before their words shoot you dead But right now I don't mind If it stabs from behind Eighty miles per hour And I still can't race past my mind And right now don't you mind Of your hit and run Are you blind To the damage done I hope the sound of the drums Drowns your cries Where my soul once lied. p.t.
0
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 10:10 AM UTC
Don't mind
I don't mind when it strikes and it hurts Eighty miles per hour It won't ache it won't irk Discover when you've been lied to And the ones with blood on their hands Just wipe it on your face and kiss your cheek I don't mind when it wounds and it shoots The alcohol tastes so sour Though it claws at the memory from its roots And the times spent in your room Dissolve with the tears from the fumes Sons of bedeviled thorns and pistols They take you in And they swallow you whole They take a shot At your chest, at your brain They take a shot And they can't really explain Hotels filled with lonely corpses A beautiful face seems the only source That might get you out of your mind When you are sick and you are lying Discover that the ones with blood on their hands Are the only ones who take a stand With their sins and knives behind their backs And a smile, and a laugh, You have to know where you're at You spell an apology letter by letter Yet the sky would know better Than to clear up on a day like today When it can strike your soul So fragile and so frail And your hands So skinny and so pale And your smell So old and so stale And your heart I can almost hear it fail There's no light at the end of that tunnel There's no mercy for merciless gunner Maybe next time they'll think ahead Before their words shoot you dead But right now I don't mind If it stabs from behind Eighty miles per hour And I still can't race past my mind And right now don't you mind Of your hit and run Are you blind To the damage done I hope the sound of the drums Drowns your cries Where my soul once lied. p.t.
welcome back, inspiration
#sad#depression#death#hiatus#backstabbing#imback
philosober
Written by
philosober
Lebanese
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 10:10 AM UTC
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