Paper.
Is canvas so white,
I ruin what it is every time that i write.
Or create what it had the potential to be...art.
So she breaks me down.
Uncreates someone that had potential to be...smart
but dumbed down,
lower than the ground,
to appease his main squeeze.
Everytime she came around,
it was like he lost his ground;
and with lost ground comes broken dreams.
Broken hearts and unspoken things,
that needed to be said.
I cant believe the things I've heard or seen.
*******
**** kisser.
*******.
used to love her,
now I miss her,
every hot summer.
Every cold winter,
to hold so close.
Like a puzzle we would fit we could sit nose to nose,
and not say a word,
not move one muscle,
we would still find a way to get us into trouble.
The better we were,
the worse that we got.
However clever our harsh words were,
we always worried a lot.
When things got too good,
we hurried to stop.
And blame got very,very blurry a lot.
Our own worst enemy.
Or are we?
Who are we?
We’re not we.
We are you and me.
Separate as could be,
ill be a,
you and you be z
because you see...
we were a canvas so white.
You ruined what we were
with the habits and the fights.
Now we is a past tense term,
that isn't spoken
because its known when,
brought up
the subject takes a wrong turn.
And things are said that were never meant.
Ego’s tongue spits out its two cents.
But more than two or three or four,
so many cents we’re talking dollar stores.
So many ups downs all arounds,
peaks and valleys,
so many smells and sounds,
that equal you.
Like a sequel taking me back to the first time,
the very first case of some stomach butterflies.
But now i feel empty,
so empty down inside.
If you hadn’t marked this canvas,
this blank white canvas of mine.