Aug 2016
You wanted a poem. Well fine I've beaten one with my ****** hands to help you pass the time.
You're so interested in me and its filled with naïvity a young blossom such as yourself should realize love comes with bad health.
I'm more mature and it conflicts with your ambiguous nature.
You disgust me by being so childishly selfishly manalady. You're a degenerate calamity unraveling my sanity and joyful lust to be adventurous at meeting new people, your evil two headed twin hides inside your skin and she's calling out to me!
"She's a lier" one says "she's your future" says the other are there no more clear signs to discover, my unrequited mysterious ambiguous naïve lover.
I'm giving up on you so here's that poem.
You've been dying to have more than you'll ever want me.
SO WHAT WAS THE POINT OF LOVING ME? Can someone that beautiful be that blind? What fluent frequency of antiquities ties both hands behind your back as you yell overboard and collide with the concrete at full impact? Does demoralizing yourself help cope with the rope tied around your hope as you stick one leg out and wish a knight in shimmering black armor strings you along. Like you're his new play thing and nothing is wrong. How does my well being take sides with yours? You and your infinitely closed tiny doors that lead to a huge ocean that's filled with blood as your heart is beating. And I've begun to leave your lyfe I salute you good bye. And maybe you'll see me when you actually want to try for something we can hold high and brag to everyone else about being happy. Its sappy I know and this po- em is me connecting your dots or at Least the bread comes I thought you left behind. Because even jack and Jill shared a crime. After all killing a witch is no innocent gesture to pressure and jester about so lightly so why do we re-read a child's book to our young ones about how any form of dying is a fun one.
You're my bedtime story I keep by the stand. You're my bedtime story that built the confidence of the man I am. You're my bedtime story! So why won't you sing me to sleep? Because you're devils have crawled in to deep.
For my words would plunder with joyance if you're gloom wasn't the cloud that fed my imagination of what a good person should be. Your oppressive pessimistic contouring lies feed my brain until the water in my eyes drips onto the floor reminding me that I am no more. No more than that of a snow sprinkle that tickled your nose. But at least that snow sprinkled made you laugh even For a fraction of a second because I know although we had our fights. I could never tear a whole in your heart. When all I did was fool around from the start.
You're so interested in me and its filled with naïvity a young blossom such as yourself should realize love comes with bad health.
I'm more mature and it conflicts with your ambiguous nature.
You disgust me by being so childishly selfishly manalady. You're a degenerate calamity unraveling my sanity and joyful lust to be adventurous at meeting new people, your evil two headed twin hides inside your skin and she's calling out to me!
"She's a lier" one says "she's your future" says the other are there no more clear signs to discover, my unrequited mysterious ambiguous naïve lover.
I'm giving up on you so here's that poem.
You've been dying to have more than you'll ever want me.
SO WHAT WAS THE POINT OF LOVING ME? Can someone that beautiful be that blind? What fluent frequency of antiquities ties both hands behind your back as you yell overboard and collide with the concrete at full impact? Does demoralizing yourself help cope with the rope tied around your hope as you stick one leg out and wish a knight in shimmering black armor strings you along. Like you're his new play thing and nothing is wrong. How does my well being take sides with yours? You and your infinitely closed tiny doors that lead to a huge ocean that's filled with blood as your heart is beating. And I've begun to leave your lyfe I salute you good bye. And maybe you'll see me when you actually want to try for something we can hold high and brag to everyone else about being happy. Its sappy I know and this po- em is me connecting your dots or at Least the bread comes I thought you left behind. Because even jack and Jill shared a crime. After all killing a witch is no innocent gesture to pressure and jester about so lightly so why do we re-read a child's book to our young ones about how any form of dying is a fun one.
You're my bedtime story I keep by the stand. You're my bedtime story that built the confidence of the man I am. You're my bedtime story! So why won't you sing me to sleep? Because you're devils have crawled in to deep.
For my words would plunder with joyance if you're gloom wasn't the cloud that fed my imagination of what a good person should be. Your oppressive pessimistic contouring lies feed my brain until the water in my eyes drips onto the floor reminding me that I am no more. No more than that of a snow sprinkle that tickled your nose. But at least that snow sprinkled made you laugh even For a fraction of a second because I know although we had our fights. I could never tear a whole in your heart. When all I did was fool around from the start.
