Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
a-m-nPoems
&maybe; we are all empty, useless and nothingness. To follow suit, I've grown so irreparably damaged that a thousand cigarettes, a dozen tiny pills could  do                                                                                                                      no good to ease the 'average' that we all are prone to, that the media pretends to abhor. No other kiss could take my breath the way this does and now I see what losing                                                                                                                   really does to me; an imperceptible toll is the thing to tell me truth. We're all breaking but we keep it confidential. Too  many months down the road and                                                                                                                       I'm utterly useless. Fifty pages of attempts at art  are nothing with the way the average thrive on 'creativity.' Every hour, I refine and redefine coping as shying  away from all but rage and substance. Anyone who touches my skin could say I radiate the caption 'I                                                                                                                      still hate You' and I cling to that. We've always said that hate hurts better than anything else. You and I have heard this from eachother, so many thought through syllables aimed to ease everything that does not look like reconstruction. &I; still proudly prove to every pair of ears that hear me that I do not and I never needed you                                                                                                                  here.
0
May 23, 2012
May 23, 2012 at 4:33 PM UTC
No really, I'm still here//May 12, 2012
&maybe; we are all empty, useless and nothingness. To follow suit, I've grown so irreparably damaged that a thousand cigarettes, a dozen tiny pills could  do                                                                                                                      no good to ease the 'average' that we all are prone to, that the media pretends to abhor. No other kiss could take my breath the way this does and now I see what losing                                                                                                                   really does to me; an imperceptible toll is the thing to tell me truth. We're all breaking but we keep it confidential. Too  many months down the road and                                                                                                                       I'm utterly useless. Fifty pages of attempts at art  are nothing with the way the average thrive on 'creativity.' Every hour, I refine and redefine coping as shying  away from all but rage and substance. Anyone who touches my skin could say I radiate the caption 'I                                                                                                                      still hate You' and I cling to that. We've always said that hate hurts better than anything else. You and I have heard this from eachother, so many thought through syllables aimed to ease everything that does not look like reconstruction. &I; still proudly prove to every pair of ears that hear me that I do not and I never needed you                                                                                                                  here.
a-m-n
Written by
a-m-n
American
May 23, 2012
May 23, 2012 at 4:33 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem