You think you're better, Than who you are. I know you better, You are an animal.
Wallowing below your instincts. Down on all fours. The animal does not feel, All it knows is survival.
You **** one another, So one stays above the other. No different than the animal, No different form a carnivore.
To devour is survival, It is how we stay alive. Down here in the dirt, Life feeds on other life.
Your belief that you are above your instincts is fauted when the hunger sets in. Reduced to a single thought, survival of the fittest. You can try to outrun who you are, you won't get very far. The animal inside you is waiting dormant. It is always there, and there it will always be.
It's a cliche to stare from the window, but I do. Slipping through time without thinking. The flowers are indulging the ground with life.
I am not so candid as to tell you why. Voices ruminate outside my prison. I wouldn't be so sad if this was the end.
I'm not calling to say I love you or I've moved on. But that when the knife in my heart twists. The pain doesn't really move me as it used to.
I might give up, I might give in. But the calls from another world, they beckon me to"Keep smiling". Perhaps I never should have reached out.
So here I write and release to the world. So that the death grip on my soul will be just released a little. As this poem has seemed to do.
I realize this isn't the ideal scenario, being so torn up about nothing it doesn't reflect on me quite well. But time will march on without me. And the stars will reflect our pie in the sky hopes and dreams. And the knife will stay in my heart to remind me of you and your betrayal all those years ago. And the poison will reach the earth I walk on. And all those nice kind loving things you say, the beauty of it all will one day be lost on me. But for today, thank you for reminding me that I can resist the pain that's meant to make me human. Until the dawn comes, I beg you to sleep. And not look at my face.
Please, don't see my tears. They are only per-cursors to that knife being twisted again. And yet, part of me desires it be twisted again so that I may see just how long it will take before I destroy this thing called "Friendship."
It is as it is written. Irritating to write it in tho, poems really shouldn't be written selfishly. It's just an experiment.
the sun rose high in the sky and burned the land beneath it and i watched a thousand ants crawling on a butterfly's dying figure claiming its wings as it frantically *****, erratic desperate but ultimately devoured.
the sun shines bright warm hues explode from the center but the beauty of the sun was so enticing that the moon wanted to reach out but as soon as she touched the blazing star she was burnt
in the same way, i tried to reach out to you but all you did was burn me what did i do? burn alive, in the hope that you would notice me and you wept next to my ashes as if you cared if only that was true
i was devoured by your fire ,, yet you didn't bat an eye until i was gone
i sometimes wonder what i did wrong perhaps i was too much to handle, incapable of loving small. i tie myself wholly in an act of pure devotion ready for worship maybe that's what made you run but i can't apologise for wanting a love that eats me whole.