God, I wanted to be a poet
Yet, we both know
That the only thing I have to do with poetry
is its declamation and ethereal breath of wind
I will be honest with you
I don’t understand your poems
Neither do I care about their meaning
Scraping of a trembling voice
Overwhelming noise
I am again all alone
out of tune chaos gone
Wipe my eyes while
I am losing myself
In glory of deep tones
In spasms and cracks of words
I feel so high
I feel so low
This is what you made me for
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 1:08 PM UTC
God, I wanted to be a poet
Yet, we both know
That the only thing I have to do with poetry
is its declamation and ethereal breath of wind
I will be honest with you
I don’t understand your poems
Neither do I care about their meaning
Scraping of a trembling voice
Overwhelming noise
I am again all alone
out of tune chaos gone
Wipe my eyes while
I am losing myself
In glory of deep tones
In spasms and cracks of words
I feel so high
I feel so low
This is what you made me for
