Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jun 2015
**** it,
I'm done.
I can't take this **** anymore
someone is playing a trick on me
it's like the world was made
mean for the purpose of my own personal torture.
Too much suffering for one man,
surely this isn't just
my life was made to rust.
I am deceived by everyone,
those who speak the alien toungue
of hate, ***, and pride
those who aren't alive.
I've been tourmented
I've been ******
False hope given
then driven back down
to suffocate
in an abyss of black ink
as if to make me long the
smell of the deserved air.

To whatever is pulling those
strings:
on behalf of a simple
mortal being who
dosen't know your ugly face:
I will not laugh.
I shall not cry.
But you are dreaming if you think
I'll give up on my dreams.
Numbers are numbers,
and I'm not on a scale.
So come back where you came
cause I'm gonna try
twice as ******* your ***.

I forgive myself of the pain I am,
having always believed I wasn't a man
and though I feel
the darkness rise to conquer
I will always believe
that light is stronger.
I need some air. This is an open window. I posted this a long time ago but needed to rewrite it just to get over some bitter bitter feelings.
Henry Brooke
Written by
Henry Brooke  Paris
(Paris)   
661
   Sumina Thapaliya
Please log in to view and add comments on poems