I can't think of a title So I'll just go to sleep for a while It's better than crying But not as affective as dying As I lay here with tear stained eyes Trying and failing to say my goodbyes My sadness creeps through yet again And pulls me down into a lifetime of pain
it's hard not to notice when your face lights up alone in a crowd i listen to the sounds of the building the slow drip of paint the screams of the wind all traces of sadness disappear as your my distraction from the pain which once consumed me if i could fly i wouldn't because my home is right here next to you, pure bliss which i lean back to admire but nobody knows nobody sees my need for art but i can't complain when i have a piece of you as you complete me there was a time i felt insecure numb i couldn't feel anything i felt helpless heavy with exhaustion i slept i remember the tired then the sound of life followed behind you it wasn't much but it was all i needed then
this poem was an attempt of me to do something different, i tried to write something using only song titles
I'm a man of the night I've been branded My poetry serves no purpose to the world. I've not been branded a hero, I've'd seen how those all end: Unquestionable statues of bronze or gold or rather forgotten, disposed after 2 weeks of fame after-death. I want neither. I'm no hero, no. I'm no gigantic bearded poet Hemingway shot himself I couldn't muster courage or decandence.
I. made. to. Stand. Shoulder to shoulder. Serving my servers. Out of love. I carry. As they carry. as I get. Carried. As one shelters me this moment; As other. Eloquent. Frightening. Dashing and Proud. as she said; titles are in fact...