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"lockscreen" poems
Loving you is never easy Never easy like it seems Heartaches Anger and cries But we act like we are doing fine. Loving you is never easy Never easy like it seems Most girl use your picture as their lockscreen Because you are their real dream That they want it to be reality. Loving you is never easy But It is so exquisite as it should be even loving you is never easy As long as you beside me I will always can handle it. Because You are the cure of the pain of losing you. R.A.
0
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 5:52 AM UTC
rabiya
Loving you is never easy.
Loving you is never easy Never easy like it seems Heartaches Anger and cries But we act like we are doing fine. Loving you is never easy Never easy like it seems Most girl use your picture as their lockscreen Because you are their real dream That they want it to be reality. Loving you is never easy But It is so exquisite as it should be even loving you is never easy As long as you beside me I will always can handle it. Because You are the cure of the pain of losing you. R.A.
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21
Music blaring violently loud You can hear it every word even though he's wearing headphones Not concentrating, He quickly goes through cupboards Finding a glass Then slowly but surely pulls open the fridge door He wants a drink of milk, like when he was seven and rushing around the garden til his chest hurt Having the time of his life Until he needed a drink Water? Yuck. Boooooring! Juice? His mother would disapprove of that until after dinner. Milk? Seems like the only good option. The boy, now a man at 22 again, chuckles to himself as the song ends and he remembers what life was like as a child. So innocent, so pure. Then the song ends. A new one begins. Your song. His hand unwillingly jerks, spilling milk on the polished-to-perfection-counter, He curses and puts down the bottle, sliding the cap on as tight as possible so he feels he still has strength in him. He curses repeatedly, But not because of the spilt milk. But because he forgot. All pictures were deleted from phones, all text messages ignored, all social media blocked But he forgot about the song. He hurries to find something to mop it up And he tries hard not to But he lets the lyrics pour into his brain And he begins to crumble all over again He remembers. He remembers you telling him "There's no point crying over spilt milk." Yet his eyes are prickling with tears. He chuckles because he thinks that's what he's doing He believes that he is crying over spilling milk on his polished-to-perfection-counter in his tiny flat in the large, daunting city. But he isn't. And deep down He hears a voice telling him he isn't. But he won't listen to that voice. He has to get over you. He has gotten over you already. Angry, pathetic tears fall down his face As he sinks down to the ground Looking into nowhere But seeing only you His hands tremble ever so slightly As he fishes around for his phone Buried deep in his pocket. He begins to whimper slightly But tells himself he is a grown up And how he needs to act like one. He slowly and uncertainly unlocks his phone Which no longer has a selfie of him and you as a lockscreen And fingers shaking with regret He presses 'delete' Just as the song ends And just like that Tears pour out of nowhere As if he was suddenly hit on the back and they were pushed out As if he was a bottle of milk And someone's arm jolted So what he had been holding in for too long Just spilt like milk.
0
Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 1:24 PM UTC
no_f4cking_reason_why
spilt milk
Music blaring violently loud You can hear it every word even though he's wearing headphones Not concentrating, He quickly goes through cupboards Finding a glass Then slowly but surely pulls open the fridge door He wants a drink of milk, like when he was seven and rushing around the garden til his chest hurt Having the time of his life Until he needed a drink Water? Yuck. Boooooring! Juice? His mother would disapprove of that until after dinner. Milk? Seems like the only good option. The boy, now a man at 22 again, chuckles to himself as the song ends and he remembers what life was like as a child. So innocent, so pure. Then the song ends. A new one begins. Your song. His hand unwillingly jerks, spilling milk on the polished-to-perfection-counter, He curses and puts down the bottle, sliding the cap on as tight as possible so he feels he still has strength in him. He curses repeatedly, But not because of the spilt milk. But because he forgot. All pictures were deleted from phones, all text messages ignored, all social media blocked But he forgot about the song. He hurries to find something to mop it up And he tries hard not to But he lets the lyrics pour into his brain And he begins to crumble all over again He remembers. He remembers you telling him "There's no point crying over spilt milk." Yet his eyes are prickling with tears. He chuckles because he thinks that's what he's doing He believes that he is crying over spilling milk on his polished-to-perfection-counter in his tiny flat in the large, daunting city. But he isn't. And deep down He hears a voice telling him he isn't. But he won't listen to that voice. He has to get over you. He has gotten over you already. Angry, pathetic tears fall down his face As he sinks down to the ground Looking into nowhere But seeing only you His hands tremble ever so slightly As he fishes around for his phone Buried deep in his pocket. He begins to whimper slightly But tells himself he is a grown up And how he needs to act like one. He slowly and uncertainly unlocks his phone Which no longer has a selfie of him and you as a lockscreen And fingers shaking with regret He presses 'delete' Just as the song ends And just like that Tears pour out of nowhere As if he was suddenly hit on the back and they were pushed out As if he was a bottle of milk And someone's arm jolted So what he had been holding in for too long Just spilt like milk.
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