Hello PoetryVoting

Vote

Voting-Boards

Home

HomeFollowingInboxNotifications

Read

ReadLiftedFeedsHeartedHistoryMy poemsNew poem

Explore

ExploreOrbitsWordsTagsClassics
Log in
0
Stars
0
Embers
0
Alerts
0
Inbox

Vote

Voting-Boards

Home

HomeFollowingInboxNotifications

Read

ReadLiftedFeedsHeartedHistoryMy poemsNew poem

Explore

ExploreOrbitsWordsTagsClassics
Log in
0
Stars
0
Embers
0
Alerts
0
Inbox

If you are reading this I have buried myself alive in my head...

These down times are what really make a person...

I will put an end to this... somethings gotta give...

victim of circumstance and while I'd stay and keep trying...

you were not there to console my sighing

so it's better I go, no time for crying

and change your mind the same as your lying.

 

Well honestly now,

Is it not apparent that we over-use the poor man idiom?

We are torturing our own kind

Human contact is for the rich

and as long as I am in text

I will be only worth as much as my words are spent

only worth as much as my discouraged intellect

only worth as much as the poor man's breath

 

who was never given a chance to progress

and it was the very same intellect that caused his distress

and so he smoked himself to death.

Request permission to use this poem
Written by
samir
Syrian
Published
Jan 23, 2013
Lines·Words
17·144
Permission

Request to use this poem

Tell samir how you would like to use it. We review requests before forwarding them.

AboutBlogFAQPrivacyTermsContact
© 2009-2026 Hello Poetry/v27.0 by @eliotyork
Explore
Hello PoetryVoting
Write