"overstrung" poems
I may be young, but I think I'm wise for my age.
We are the lost ones, they're ready to rage
And I spit venom with my tongue, ready for a stage,
But I'm overstrung, so I'm locked up in this cage
Of uncertainty, normally I'd enter your heart like a burglary,
but conservatively, to help myself reach serenity
before my heart changes to a dark shade of burgundy
The urgency of your love is more valuable than currency
Together, a joint enterprise, I just need your company
Help, the urge to off myself is increasing in intensity
Now please hurry, it's an atrocity, edging the ledge of insanity
Stop me before I slaughter double you's (W's) with ease (E's)
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 1:58 AM UTC
He was seething,
but I was finally breathing.
I stood in his shadow for far too long,
mesmerized by his siren song.
I apologized for my words and held my sharp tongue,
while he never did so—I remained overstrung.
I resent myself for having endured so much,
but that's okay, as those were the years of my nascence.
Now, I stand tall in the shadow of my own dignity,
away from the wretched hands of his vanity.
He decays now, murderously slow,
while I relish my freedom forevermore.
He is seething,
I am breathing.
Mar 14, 2025
Mar 14, 2025 at 1:39 PM UTC