I long to write Beautiful things Like Shakespeare And elegant ballgowns Something with more meaning Then simply feeling down
I long to write Of romeo and Juliet Symbolic and deeper then most see Oh thou arent very good with writing
I long to write Like egar allen poe Or any inspiration i claim to love But instead i write of the dead things That roam through my mind stirring
Pound pound pounding My mind is constantly aching She's but a young child Cry cry crying For attention she seeks but it keeps dying
Plays and music will not be wrote Of the things i write For they are not artistic They are but a jumbled mess Never knowing where to place Each Line or Stanza
Now I'm rambling On and on and on She goes sad and chaotic Whispering obscenities And screaming repetitive words and pleas
I adore the poems and songs That at face value seem Like they are about love for another When truly they ring about darkness
Oh sweet child Your love keeps thy so warm But it's breaking into a storm I watch you try to sleep Why do you weep? Dost thou not realize thy beauty? Stab thy heart into shreds For i cannot breath without the But i cannot smile when thy fills my blood with led
Sweet little girl You have made no sense Get on your knees and repent For you will never be
My head was filled with so very mamy words this morning i had to get them all out
What's such a pretty girl doing with a stranger between her thighs and a camera in her face? What demons in her closet has she failed to embrace? What led her to this hallway of ******* that has her life hindered this way? doesn't she know that she's only a phase meant to fade away from the industry she's chosen? As these thoughts enter my head, my **** always stays frozen. It leaves me wondering where my life is headed, ****, if she ran out of options what the **** is it gonna be like for me? I can't go into the adultery industry, so what will become of me? I hate to say it, but it made me sad laying there with a hand in my pants and my brain in high gear. There are no simple solutions for me in life, and I started to understand that.
Yyyyeah I was watching **** and got kind of depressed. Guess it is as ****** as it sounds lol
I’ve loved your *** since the 11th grade. There were a few years when we went our separate ways, in due time we both knew we should of stayed.. Our lives were in ******* shambles.. Each passing day I would gamble, I’d hope, I’d pray.. Maybe I’ll see him this time, *** would I even say?? Hey love, I’ve missed you... Still remember the day when I first kissed you. I remember 9/11 was a day of much conflict and disarray But in Reseda, California, we put the egos, pride and ******* at bay.. Shared our dreams, we talked about life, what it’s like without each other and what it all means.. there’s a fine line between love and hate. there’s no madness without love. I don’t really believe in fate. When it comes to matters of the heart there ain’t much you can say It’s ok, I wouldn’t have it any other way.. cause you’re my man crush everyday
Happy Monday I write about how much he ****** me off all the time.. But there’s a reason why I put up with it I love him.....
Work night rumbles in the Dublin 4 palace Laughing in the stale smell of too much freedom Whiskey, beer, prosecco make up A rainbow of mischievous golden hues Corona that smells like drifting **** clouds No limes, browning in the red net In the fridge between pockets of pizza space No Topshop dresses, flannel shirts, uniforms But greasy repeal jumpers, palazzo pants, huffing Rollies on the porch under generous back light Beside rabbit ornament with human head, crouched In grass below the shroud of full moon fever. An ex-rugby lad in a Chance the Rapper cap Stands in the sunroom eating Chinese He ordered when he was bored of girls Changing the song one too many times Masking the gurgling moka, hidden To serve coffee at midnight and write bad verse Before morning dips potato waffles into relish "Which is just posh ketchup", breakfast Before leaving dry chunks in the bath for work.
Revolted fading decay Did pursuade, Like blood on the shore, To write with the blackness of my heart And with hope nevermore
The black ink blooms on paperback, With the heart that spurts its veins Accross the page Growing into its darkness and pains
The white fading, drimpel, dubbed unpailing With the words posing as potent but poison Possesed in perfect form of pretence...
The Words so falsly true... The words bleeding out, "I love you"
Tribute to Edgar Poe. The poem tells the story about a writer who utterly despises love, but when he himself gets tangled in it, he gives in and writes a letter expressing his feelings towards his love interest...
Dead, the day before yesterday. Grieved by it, personally, Reputation: few or no friends Suggested art - lost its erratic stars A dreamer! Dwelling in ideal realms -the brain- Madness
Indistinct curses with eyes upturned, already ******. Happiness wit hglances introverted, shrouded in gloom, arms wildly beating spirits - sought to forget close by, those glimpses open to the doom of death
I pulled these lines from the Obituary of Edgar Allen Poe to construe a poem that I feel has both a theme of its own but draws aspects from Poe's life as well.