"strife" poems
Why Men Cry in the Bathroom
For so many reasons.
I will tell you the why.
I think you know,
Or perhaps, you think you know.
Men are always O.K.,
Even when not.
We expect the worse,
Accept the worse,
Nonetheless,
We are forever unprepared.
Wearily, we cry,
In the bathroom, in private,
Lest sighs slip by,
We be unmasked,
Early warring, strife signs warning.
Copious, tho we weep
Before the mirror confessor,
It is relief untethered,
Unbinding of the feet,
An uncounting
Of beaded rosaries,
Of freshly fallen hail stones,
Of night times terrors
By dawn's early edition's light,
and welcomed.
But look for the mute tear,
The eye-cornered drop,
*** tat, that never drops,
But never ceases formation and
Reforming, over and over again,
In a state of perpetuity of reconstitution,
*The tippy tear of an iceberg revealing,
And I see you peeping, wondering,
What is beneath*
Look for:
the torn worm-eaten edges of spirit,
thrift shop bought, extra worn,
grieving lines neath the eyes,
where the salt has evaporated,
discolored the skin.
worry lines,
under and above,
browed mapped, furrowed boundaries.
the laugh line saga,
where better days are stored,
recalled, as well as recanted,
publicly, privately.
Why just men?
I don't know,
Perhaps,
it is all I know. end.<nml>
Jan 6, 2013
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 10:46 AM UTC
If I could turn back time
I would hit Backspace all day,
Id put on Caps Lock
and SHOUT what I say.
I'd use the whole Alphabet
To tell you hello,
Press seven Numbers
Til you picked up the phone.
I'd Tab through the comments
I didn't want to hear,
And use the Arrow Keys
To drag your body near.
I would Delete the harsh words
I didn't mean to speak,
And Insert the "I love yous"
I before couldn't leak.
I would use Ctrl to
Keep reigns over my heart,
And I would Escape lies
That tore us apart.
I'd Print out your photo
And kiss it goodnight,
Use the Calculator
To check that we were right.
I'd Paint you a picture
of us, you and me,
Then I'd hit Enter
Just so you would see.
Those are the things
I would do in my strife,
If only Backspace
worked in real life.
Feb 13, 2018
Feb 13, 2018 at 8:12 AM UTC
It's my best friend,
and my nightmere-
it's all that I love
and everything I fear.
It's my fulfillment,
my bottomless sorrow-
bringing dark thoughts
of no tomorrow.
It's my strength,
my greatest plight-
this evil addiction
I try to fight.
It's my oblivion,
my heartbreaking pain-
a toxic cloud
that's killing my brain.
It's my protection,
my paranoid lies-
the Devil himself
in crystal disguise.
It's my sanity,
my endless strife-
this methamphetamine
destroying my life.
It's my reality,
my make-believe bliss-
I just never imagined
I would end up like this....
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 7:53 PM UTC
In a world without technology,
can you imagine how it would be?
To not have any lights.
We'll probably stay home at night.
In a world without technology,
we'll lose forms of connectivity.
We'll not have wifi or 3G,
distance will be as it should be.
However, without technology,
We won't have people far away,
because we can only walk on foot.
Most will live at home for good.
Without technology,
perhaps there'll be more sincerity,
where more people would be seen,
not looking at their phone screens.
Instead they'll stop and listen,
giving undivided attention,
to the people by their side.
Perhaps without technology,
we would have to do things manually.
Life may be tough physically.
But with technology,
is our life really that easy?
Is the world really as it should be?
Are people living in harmony?
Or is there more strife?
More people losing their lives?
Or is there more pain,
more people dying in vain?
What about pollution?
Isn't it part of our contribution?
All the fuels and carbon,
it'll soon bring us to extinction.
Our earth today is now diseased,
life on earth is not at peace.
We can deny all this,
And this is the utter irony,
while it gives us mass connection,
It reduces engagement,
attention and perhaps even compassion.
"Across the globe, millions reported dying",
ends up being desensitizing.
Technology's connectivity,
leaves us more detached than we should be.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC
The false crisendo of your words
Grate against my every nerves.
Wandering round
With ****** feet
How many expectations
Have I failed to meet?
What more do you want
Of my sorry soul
When I cannot bring
My self to breath anymore?
So I watch your hopes
all tumbling down
It feels quite cold
Down here in the ground.
I'm sorry that I wasn't enough
I tried to be what you asked of me
But I didnt think it'd be So tough.
My weary bones creak and ache,
My wrist all burned and ******
Can you not be quite just once for my sake?
I understand the gravity.
I know Im failing at life,
But you dig right in,
spreading the cavity,
How to ignore the strife?
Whispered arguments bleed through the walls
How much longer until we fall?
Through the floor straight down to hell
All because I could not tell.
Should I weep in pain,
And slave away,
To satisfy you're whimsical ways?
Should I sell my soul,
And bite my tongue,
Just to keep the wallet full?
But "your so young,
You've no excuse,
So bend your back,
Put those hands to use."
Welcome to life.
Put away your pain,
No time for strife,
No time for play,
Just nod you head,
Exit the stage,
And get a job,
So you'll be payed.
I'd sooner live a poor church mouse,
Then lose myself in persute of a house.
But no, I'll smile my candy grin,
And talk with sugar sweet.
Hide the weight of the pain,
So your expectations, I'll meet.
Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 11:39 PM UTC
come if you're thirsty, come if you're stained
come if you're weary, come if you're pained
come to the water, the bread and the blood
come to Christ's soul-saving covenant flood
there's no one too ***** no one too poor
no one too broken whose faith He'll ignore
come if you hear Jesus calling your name
come to be free of all guilt and all shame
come if you're willing to cast out old strife
come lay your burden and take up new life
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 12:04 PM UTC
i
give me my lifes´
the day crowded bright
and the night sumptuous..
give me my pretty wife
where love at first sight
bind us..
give us two souls blithe
fused as light within light
sweet bounteous..
let us soar and dive
like content swallows might
time in lost happiness..
( and let trouble and strife
bind-us the more tight
like our first kiss..)
give then to two one life
white to white
whole as stars
as love unto death
might break apart
and ride the cosmos..
ii
the jonah by james herbert
a heist goes wrong and a colleage
is shot..
just another debacle for our hero
in a long list
that has him transferred to the
drug squad and east anglia..
to live in a caravan..
keep his eye on the locals
and drink strong beer..
ellie his partner
makes him eat
and they fall in love
though various tentions rise
due to his troubles..
some flash backs
a left baby in a toilet
sadistic stuff at the orphanage..
bullies and dodgy collars
his step father is strict
he is an ornothologist..
there are drug related incident
a dead vole
a us pilot bites the farm..
some little boy thinks he
can fly..
the water supply
some pilfering
some heavy knocks
some bad lies
some kitchen
small potatoes
but all part
of mr herbert´ s charm..
a huge storm
the spooky old mill
a wild trip..
and regression
bad men
bad men..
lot´ s of struggle
the raw products
towed in by trawler
assembled by the knights
torn
and a lost twin..
a monster in the flood
where others die
a maitre d..
a ***** salesman and
his girl in a caravan
the fishermen..
helicopters and
victory for
the forces of good..
and the jonah
gone and all
is light..
the end..
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 8:01 AM UTC
The darkness is lightened
By the stars in the sky
And I am not frightened
With you by my side
You hold my hand
As we lie in the grass
We talk about our favorite bands
And things from our past
We discuss the earth, moon, and sun
And the origins of life
We wonder why people use guns
And why there is so much strife
You stare into my eyes
Moonlight twinkles in yours
For a moment we are hypnotized
Then the rain starts to pour
Both of us laugh
We leap off the ground
The sky shows its wrath
And you twirl me around
With your hands on my waist
We enjoy the refreshing shower
I can feel our hearts race
And the world feels like ours
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 6:58 PM UTC
At the corner, a girl child from the UK
another soft drink she chugged
Whilst the girl woman in the Sudan,
the heavy *** on head she lugged
She walked eight miles, braving ****
to fetch unclean water from the well
Whilst in the UK, the girl bought designer clothes
to make her feel just swell
God where are the waters of life?
To end their strife
At the mall, the boy child ate his third Hershey bar
In Malawi the boy man’s
stomach had extended too far
Malnutrition had sealed his fate
God where is the cereal?
To make their lives non-ephemeral
Down under, the son celebrated with family,
presents and cake
his father’s 100th milestone
Whilst in war torn Syria, a son, now orphan
buried his young murdered father,
in ground without a gravestone
God when will the fighting cease?
To give them a chance of peace
Is this God’s confusion?
That though we are all made the same,
some people their innocence shattered
are headed for a terrifying fate
whilst others fully satiated and secure,
sip their drinks, polish off and request another plate
Or does God if he exists
not love the weak and oppressed?
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 6:25 PM UTC
The burning flowers underline the sunset and
Dash before the fire (k)night catches them.
Ripe berries cheaply
tremble
but hopefully their vitality won't burst the pulp pulsating
beneath.
Crumbling flowers
crumb the floor
And Prisms of catching silver refract rose quartz and petal
and crimson
dust.
Bejewelled in Scarlet,
the air,
as the (k)night approaches, grows colder,
Unsure of whether he will bring
solace or strife.
In his chariot
he flies faster than the bees which buzzed around the fruit flutes
in the morning and among the trumpeting bluebells.
Stars fleck the (k)night
like freckles
and the milky ways resins stain his spouting steams lovely.
The (k)nights kind onyx reaches his crescendo and the floating moon danced drowsily through the cloud's spiralled tendrils
Which diminish as dawn
approaches
so their Tentilcles
droop to crinkled tissue paper sheathed in pink.
And so the (k)night
rides on into
The frivolous sunrise.
The lowing, glossy calves
in sage beside the ***** fields
cast a beloved ambience
As though
we are safe
in the knowledge
that the sky will remain
forever
topaz and the leaves
forever emerald.
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 4:05 AM UTC
I saw a carving from Bethlehem that you had given my Nan,
She showed me a photograph of you, you were tall, with a golden tan.
The carving it was inscribed, 'with love from your brother Tom',
I knew my Nan had looked up to you, when all was said and done.
My Nan she was a little girl, when you were called away,
With her mother she waited eagerly for news, day, by day, by day.
In her eyes you were a hero who had gone off to the war,
Your smiling face, and uniform, were the last things that she saw.
She dreamt of the day that you would come back, striding through the gate,
she heard her mother pacing, though she didn't know your fate.
She heard her mother weeping but didn't want to know the reason why,
In her stomach she had a feeling that something was awry.
Then her mother sat her down and told her you were dead,
She told me she went dizzy, blood rushing to her head.
She told me she cried out your name, her heart it was pure broken,
The army sent a telegram, but it was really just a token.
You were just a boy of eighteen years when you were forced away,
I wonder how many mothers would cope if their sons left today.
They couldn't give you a grave, there was nothing left to bury,
You were blown to pieces in one hit, with bombs dropped in a flurry.
You only lasted for three months in your short, tough, army life,
My Nan died aged eighty-four, after a life of grief and strife,
She pined for you throughout those years and missed you everyday,
Her hero, her brother Tom, who left and went away.
She worried that when you fought, you longed for her and home
And worried that you were consumed with fear, and if that fear had grown.
She wondered if you had called out "Mum" and if your blood was swept by the tide,
how desperately she had wished, that she had been there, by your side.
The reason I know of you today, is that girl who became my Nan,
Who kept your memory alive as she always did back then,
I tell my sons about you Tom, I hope it's the right thing to do,
And I hope that they will love me as much, as my Nan had loved you.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 2:11 PM UTC
I met her once
a little, blind girl
who had let me
inside her wonderful world.
Yes, she couldn't see,
the girl with eyes bright.
Yet, she loved her world
like she never lost her sight.
She heard the music
of the breeze that blew.
The love for her world,
it only grew.
She acquainted me with
that music she heard,
from the buzz of the bees
to the chirping of the birds.
Yes, she couldn't see
the wonders of life.
Yet, she smiled
without a sign of strife.
She had beautiful eyes
filled with wonder.
I stood speechless and thought
how could God make such a blunder?
She danced and sang
with a graceful twirl.
How she loved her life
the little, blind girl.
She smiled and laughed,
her face filled with joy.
With wonder in her eyes,
she was serene, yet coy.
She felt her world
beneath her tiny fingers
and on me left a mark
that would forever linger.
Yes, she couldn't see
the life that she felt.
Yet, she never showed
the sorrow that she dealt.
Her world was dark.
Yet, she saw
the Earth's true form
pure and raw.
Yes, she let me in.
But I couldn't overstay.
So, I excused myself politely
and quietly walked away.
I had met her once
a little girl who couldn't see.
Yes, she was a child
but the happiest there could ever be
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 8:13 AM UTC
Before I begin, allow me to explain,
I too loved.. once,
so think of me not as some cynic-
nor as a master in the ways of love-
but rather as a keen observer-
now, that may mean I have nothing to offer you-
no insider knowledge-
no secrets of love-
But I do know how to tell a true love story -
Interested?
Fantastic-
So let’s begin,
True love, if there is such a thing at all,
is like the thread that makes the cloth
you can’t tease it out-
you can’t extract meaning-
without ending up deeper in the web-
and it always remains-
hidden under layers -
In the end, that’s all you can really say about any
True love story-
They don’t generalize-
They don’t analyze-
They arent found-
They just… happen.
and that’s what makes them “true.”
But what is this coveted “love” -
the emotion?-
the act?-
the mentality?-
Love, is a constant state of illusionment-
A collective agreement amongst humans-
that it, whatever it may be, can be treated as an excuse
for recklessness, irrationality, and misplaced strife-
A quid pro quo between two individuals-
to agree that they are doing something-
anything-
other than mindlessly drudging through life-
Now that is not to say that what love creates is pointless-
I said before, I have felt the embrace of love
Love festers between individuals for so long
it has no option-
but to mould the physical to itself-
and alter our personalities-
Characterized by spontaneity-
by indulgence-
by risk-
to love is the most dangerous experience in existence-
the act of being fully vulnerable with another-
while promising not to hurt them the same-
Love is characterized by vulnerability-
and the constant fear of being hurt-
So you want to know how to write a true love story?
be honest-
dwell not on the “romantic” blindfolds that keep us irrationally seeking our partners-
dwell not on the on the memories of a love that blossomed-
reveal the core of love -
A true love story comes from gut instinct-
A true love story, comes from experience.
A true love story, if truly told, makes the stomach believe
So I said I loved once,
allow me to elaborate-
I too have felt the “butterfly stomach”
- where the insides of the lovestruck turn on their host and manifests the emotional significance of meeting “the one”
I too have spent the day daydreaming...
-Lost in the thought of “the one”, seeking brief breaks from reality in my mind between moments of utter normalcy
I too have melted into a puddle of emotion….
-lying next to “the one” as we slowly spill more and more of the secrets that bound us as individuals, joining a spirit much larger than ourselves-
I too have felt... invincible-
-to know that I’ve found something more significant than myself. Something that replaces the fear of the future.. and makes it something to look forward to.
Yes, I too have fallen in love.
and I did just that-
I fell.
..And that is my true love story-
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 2:12 AM UTC
To live in Wales is to be conscious
At dusk of the spilled blood
That went into the making of the wild sky,
Dyeing the immaculate rivers
In all their courses.
It is to be aware,
Above the noisy tractor
And hum of the machine
Of strife in the strung woods,
Vibrant with sped arrows.
You cannot live in the present,
At least not in Wales.
There is the language for instance,
The soft consonants
Strange to the ear.
There are cries in the dark at night
As owls answer the moon,
And thick ambush of shadows,
Hushed at the fields' corners.
There is no present in Wales,
And no future;
There is only the past,
Brittle with relics,
Wind-bitten towers and castles
With sham ghosts;
Mouldering quarries and mines;
And an impotent people,
Sick with inbreeding,
Worrying the carcase of an old song. To live in Wales is to be conscious
At dusk of the spilled blood
That went into the making of the wild sky,
Dyeing the immaculate rivers
In all their courses.
It is to be aware,
Above the noisy tractor
And hum of the machine
Of strife in the strung woods,
Vibrant with sped arrows.
You cannot live in the present,
At least not in Wales.
There is the language for instance,
The soft consonants
Strange to the ear.
There are cries in the dark at night
As owls answer the moon,
And thick ambush of shadows,
Hushed at the fields' corners.
There is no present in Wales,
And no future;
There is only the past,
Brittle with relics,
Wind-bitten towers and castles
With sham ghosts;
Mouldering quarries and mines;
And an impotent people,
Sick with inbreeding,
Worrying the carcase of an old song.
20.5k
is not a disability to me
be it PTSD
or Bi Polar
or Anxiety Depression
or just riding Solo
it's not a disability to me
it may play havoc
with my everyday life but
it's not an impediment
or an indication
that you lack ability
to deal with living strife
it's not a disability to me
it's more a heightened empathy
a conscious awareness
not a disease (some cases can be)
but not a disability to me
it just means your fortitude
takes you to the next level
when the ground falls
beneath your feet
you don't lay down to grovel
you find ways to make
a near endless day
better than it was yesterday
you praise all tomorrows
because you made it today
your mental disabilty
has never been a disability
to me
in any way
Jul 23, 2015
Jul 23, 2015 at 4:14 AM UTC
She sang a song
of ice and snow
and dreamed of oceans
swaying slow
She swam through clouds
and flew near stars
Fell so proud
and dove so far
She was a sad harmony
A song she unsung
A silence unheard
A deed undone
She hummed a tune
of fish and birds
and bore with devotion
The beasts she herds
She swam through life
and flew from death
Fell from strife
and dove bereft
She was a sweet melody
A smile she unsmiled
A violence in violet
My hope she defiled
She sang a song
that twists the mind
and played my emotions
Leaving me blind
I swam near folly
and flew through sin
I fell in love
and dove right in
Jul 29, 2019
Jul 29, 2019 at 3:55 PM UTC
God. How am I still not okay?
God. It's been so long.
God. I'm so tired of life right now.
God. What happened to me?
I was such a nice kid.
I was calm all the time.
Mature for my age,
Little but so lively.
I was so helpful.
So loyal.
I always supported my trust.
But I never really spoke my mind.
I was shy.
I was small.
I never stood up for my feelings
I never stood up for myself.
And now I'm older.
I realize I don't need support.
I need myself.
I need confidence.
Speaking your mind is not wrong.
Standing up for your feelings isn't rude.
Standing up for yourself isn't mean.
Saying what you feel doesn't make you imperfect.
No one's perfect. Not even them.
The ones you hate for being so amazing.
Maybe she has anxiety.
Maybe his mom is alcoholic.
No one has a perfect life.
There's not one perfect family in the world.
There is not a person in the world who's perfect.
There's not a person who doesn't have one bit of strife.
But just because you aren't perfect.
Doesn't make you less worth it.
You're amazing.
You're still charming, kind, and strong.
You're just more experienced.
You just understand some more things now.
And maybe, just maybe,
You just aren't as shy anymore.
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 4:17 PM UTC
They say, The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain
But I blame, in vain, the rain for the insane, you see
This plain pain hasn't the same name, nor the same game
For the rain's pain is the same sane as they claim
And since the pain's shame resides mainly in Spain,
Neither the rain nor Spain is to blame for the insane, so now
This sane can claim the uneven plane's plain's the name to blame
But the strife of life is held under the knife of a wife
Where strife runs rife throughout the wife's life
The knife, learning from the fife, plays with the life
While the fife excites life, the knife excites strife
The wife with the knife is at fault, fact or fake?
Is the knife to blame for the strife of the wife's life?
Or the fife for teaching the knife to play with strife?
This just goes to show that no one knows the real rose
For the rose, in it's thorny clothes, just shows the nose
The smell, a pose, so close, tingles the nose till it glows
But the finger, too close, chose to trust the nose's prose
Blame the rose who proposed the show and showed the pose?
Or the nose, whose clothes glowed from the smell of the rose?
The finger couldn't 'ave known the true pose of prose from the rose to the nose.
Apr 5, 2011
Apr 5, 2011 at 7:20 PM UTC
There once was a hero who was mute,
A musical hero, to boot!
His fingers did not strum
A guitar or tap a drum;
He saved the kingdom with a flute!
-------------------------------------------------
A soldier clouded by strife,
To have love lost like a life.
Finds beauty in flowers,
Destroys evil powers,
While wielding an oversized knife!
-------------------------------------------------
An army of soldiers well-trained,
Though, in action they seem dead-brained;
Hit with his own bomb,
That one knows your mom,
It’s a battlefield of the deranged.
-SLuR
Jan 2, 2018
Jan 2, 2018 at 4:19 PM UTC
Precarious Life
Migration in the Age of Globalization
Various Strife
Cessation in the wage of translation
Starvation in our under age narration
Is opportunity worth the cost
Bifurcation of our to be nations
Will we make it across
Vicariously rife
Location of our permanent vacation
Hilarious fife
Hesitation in the living wage stagnation
Resignation of our own home nation
Will anything become lost
Frustration in this age of relocation
Will we make it across
Gregarious life
Migration in the age of inflation
Precarious Life
Stagflation been gauged with low expectations
Automation when we enrage damnation
It shall be worth the cost
Fixation on a whole new acclimation
Will we make it across
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 2:46 PM UTC
All I want for Christmas
is some food to eat.
Oh what a treat
to have some meat.
All I want for Christmas
is clean water to drink,
stuff that doesn't stink,
that would be cool I think.
All I want for Christmas
is the bombs to stop,
no more to drop.
That would be the top.
All I want for Christmas
is for our food to grow,
the plants we sow
now that would be a show.
All I want for Christmas
is to be free to learn.
Not to be a germ
because I want to learn.
All I want for Christmas
is some medication.
and some dedication
from the United Nation.
All I want for Christmas
is to grow up strong.
Am I so wrong
wanting to belong.
All I want for Christmas
is some equal rights
and somewhere to sleep
through the coldest nights.
All I want for Christmas
is to earn a crust.
With employers
that we can really trust.
All I want for Christmas
is a chance at life
for a man and wife
not to live in strife.
All I want for Christmas
is oh so far away
and on this day
this is what I pray.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 2:30 PM UTC
I'm a gamer
The things I do
Mapped new worlds
Slain a god or two
Blown up stars
And lead revolutions
Gained experience
And Increased my Constitution
Drove a tank
A star-ship
A dragon
Killed a zombie horde
Drank some mead from a flagon
I've built cities
and worlds
and life
I've ended wars
and Famines
and strife
I've lived more lives than one can live
I've seen the work of hundreds in the span of moments
More personal than literature
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 11:18 AM UTC
Oh Lord give me the words I need
That I can learn this simple creed,
So I may know the way of life
Enjoy the good, keep out the strife.
Self-discipline is my desire
It will keep me out the mire,
To increase my own will power
Will be my work this hour.
Emotions are the way I feel
Control of them, the real deal,
So i can reason, good or bad
Then keep the joy and shun the sad.
Imagination can light the fire
Can create a vision higher,
My conscience is my judge each day
So I can choose a better way.
In my memory, can impress
All the good I need address,
So in my mind I have power
To live my life this very hour.
Self-discipline it is my creed
And it will give me all I need,
To set the goal I can complete
So I create a life that's sweet.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 12:22 PM UTC
Do you believe in the new year, new me?
Do you want to change what you believe?
Is changing your personality worth it?
To only soon realize it isn't you and give in?
What about the people in your life?
The one's facing much more strife?
Are you going to leave them behind to?
Simply to change the old you?
What was so wrong with you anyway?
You lived a life simply, day by day.
What was wrong with that?
Was it because you were a brat?
Then just change a small thing.
Wait for what this year brings.
You don't need to change all of yourself,
It most likely wouldn't help.
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 12:07 PM UTC
If you stop stalking me,
Then I can think clearly
Maybe I'll have peace of mind.
If you stop stalking me,
Then I won't be talking to myself
Maybe people won't call me crazy again.
If you stop stalking me,
Then I can go to sleep
Maybe I won't wake with you staring
If you stop stalking me,
Then my doctor will know I'm sane
Maybe I won't need my pills.
Once I was filled with life,
Now all I cause is strife
If I could be the same,
Then I'll stop stalking you.
Maybe I won't be so lame.
If I could sleep at night,
Then I'll stop stalking you.
Maybe I won't fear the light
If dogs don't bark when I'm near,
Then I'll stop stalking you.
Maybe you won't shriek like a deer
But I can't stop stalking you
For I shall be stuck alone
I can't stop stalking you
Because I have no hope on my own
I can't stop stalking you
For no one will see me ever again
When my time is due,
Then I'll ease your pain
I wouldn't stalk you
If I'd died with ease
And my flesh put to rest
For my soul would be in peace
And free from this torment
And when you die
Maybe you'll find peace
Then you won't feel my pain
But until then, just like everyone else's
I'll always be there
Lurking in the night
Staring at night
Your stalker and your bane
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 5:15 AM UTC