you break my conscience
so i don't have to do it
but i'm done, okay?
i'm tired of your flippant
smile that drains the life
in my fragmented eyes
cause she's more better
than me? seriously?
i don't think so
wake up, you little
piece of low-life
I'm testing out the features where you can italicize or bold words.
sometime i don't like him.
man, i mean
he's not too nice too me.
i like **** more
she gets my point across.
and she's got no reason to hurt me.
****** is the life,
The burns and blemishes.
Quivers and fame,
The chilling beasts wavering,
Kills and screams.
Hallucinations and some tints,
The shades are not grey.
The ghettos I'm breaking.
An abstract. Slam.
And when I do you will fall lower,
Lower than where you already were.
You will get strange sorts of fever,
Will blight you a higher temperature.
Be ****** you will for torturing me,
And you won't die but live to see me rise.
You isolated me from the world over,
Even my parents thought I was wrong.
But now they understand how I was wrong,
Because I was wrong in choosing you as my friend.
With a high dengue fever you already have been down,
Now with another fear away you will just be blown.
If I suffer because of you then rest assured,
Because you will not either be spared.
Time calls you to mend your ways soon,
Or nobody will know why you get a swoon.
For a person in my batch at my M.Tech college NDRI who just cut me off from the entire class by petty pointless politics.
HP Poem #1244
You wrote me off,
so I'll write you on.
when you leave,
you just provide inspiration.
So in the end just who used who?
It's pretty **** simple,
"I used you."
You probably wished
I would sob away life.
But that's so inhumane,
when I can fly?
You probably thought,
I'd plead you to stay,
to be honest,
I'm feeling really okay.
I don't care about
the things you said,
the things you did,
or the things you tried so hard to hide.
In two years or so,
I won't even remember you're name.
"He did that to me? Oh what a shame."
Now for once,
I'll give you what you want,
and this time you can't complain.
I'll write you into this poem,
and soon enough you'll have fame.
— The End —