#mypast - Hello Poetry

You got the face of an angel Honey nothing lasts forever I´ll feed you the lies It´s all the same A pleasant taste of heartache You taste like vanillin mixed with bipolar Nothing ever grows out of pity darling, I´ll cherish the smell of your decaying past in your everly growing collection of perfume With hints of dementia and white floral Once you fill every space with your true love whos name you dont mention

0

Oct 10, 2015

Oct 10, 2015 at 4:13 PM UTC

StarDecember

White floral funeral

You got the face of an angel Honey nothing lasts forever I´ll feed you the lies It´s all the same A pleasant taste of heartache You taste like vanillin mixed with bipolar Nothing ever grows out of pity darling, I´ll cherish the smell of your decaying past in your everly growing collection of perfume With hints of dementia and white floral Once you fill every space with your true love whos name you dont mention

15

the worst is not knowing what was real which "i love you" which deep, longing gaze into my eyes which last kiss with hopes of another which caress that wasn't meant for another i wish i could hold on to the good but what was a lie what was a dream what was us s.q.

0

Jan 18, 2016

Jan 18, 2016 at 9:38 PM UTC

sq

?

the worst is not knowing what was real which "i love you" which deep, longing gaze into my eyes which last kiss with hopes of another which caress that wasn't meant for another i wish i could hold on to the good but what was a lie what was a dream what was us s.q.

10

I see it as from outside a window, Myself walking fast, head bowed, Life happening all around me without sound, Distanced even then, not sure I know why The paces of development grow hazy around that line. My heart was soft, My head curiously empty, A balloon floating along, Not certain where she might belong It was the best of times, I still go there in my head, I don't remember the feel of the wind on my face, But the feel of the wood I sat on in my classroom The urgency every time the bell rang for lunch hour, The acrid taste of isolation when I hadn't enough for the tack room It was the best of times, I still go there is my head, My friend had a bag of coin in the desk nearby, I saw her put it there and, I took it, I don't know why, They found me out, hung me dry, From then on I tried not to pry, Kids really know how to crucify. It was the best of times, I still go there in my head. When my child's eye was pure, Boys hard-wearing, still demure, I used to think I would never be self-assured, I'm still not, Confrontation ties my insides in a knot, But I live for those days, When Saturday mornings meant cartoons, Followed by hilariously misguided cooking attempts at noon, That would get you later whooped past sense All your friends watching from the fence. It was the best of times, I still go there in my head.

0

Feb 8, 2019

Feb 8, 2019 at 4:53 AM UTC

hvbibv

I Still go there in my head

I see it as from outside a window, Myself walking fast, head bowed, Life happening all around me without sound, Distanced even then, not sure I know why The paces of development grow hazy around that line. My heart was soft, My head curiously empty, A balloon floating along, Not certain where she might belong It was the best of times, I still go there in my head, I don't remember the feel of the wind on my face, But the feel of the wood I sat on in my classroom The urgency every time the bell rang for lunch hour, The acrid taste of isolation when I hadn't enough for the tack room It was the best of times, I still go there is my head, My friend had a bag of coin in the desk nearby, I saw her put it there and, I took it, I don't know why, They found me out, hung me dry, From then on I tried not to pry, Kids really know how to crucify. It was the best of times, I still go there in my head. When my child's eye was pure, Boys hard-wearing, still demure, I used to think I would never be self-assured, I'm still not, Confrontation ties my insides in a knot, But I live for those days, When Saturday mornings meant cartoons, Followed by hilariously misguided cooking attempts at noon, That would get you later whooped past sense All your friends watching from the fence. It was the best of times, I still go there in my head.

37

The moments we can never retrieve, The words we've left unsaid, The places we can't ever leave, The feelings that have been long dead.

0

Feb 8, 2016

Feb 8, 2016 at 6:44 AM UTC

taki-kumiko

The Ghosts of My Past

The moments we can never retrieve, The words we've left unsaid, The places we can't ever leave, The feelings that have been long dead.

12

We were young, walking around 5th avenue Two strung out kids from the burbs Sun glistening off our glazed eyes Driving around in a piece of **** with one door smashed in I remember your t-shirt It said "Send me forget-me-nots" I always gave you **** for it Sorry 1-27-20

0

Feb 1, 2020

Feb 1, 2020 at 12:20 PM UTC

Theebeatnik

Winter of 08'

We were young, walking around 5th avenue Two strung out kids from the burbs Sun glistening off our glazed eyes Driving around in a piece of **** with one door smashed in I remember your t-shirt It said "Send me forget-me-nots" I always gave you **** for it Sorry 1-27-20

17