It was my apology you always wanted, and
after your petty display
of pain and tears
I knew I couldn’t hurt you again
Who could forget the late, late nite
telephone calls
I could hear you screaming
And the sound of your heart breaking
was the sound of my knees shaking
I don’t think I can get rid of you
No matter how repulsive my love is…
you need the feeling of having comfort
And my comfort is that of a grave
So maybe this epitaph will suit you well
“Leave this love and let it rot in hell!”
Because I can’t love you the way she does.
She’s impure… but to you a dove?
She meant peace, and a sort of purity in your eyes.
But for me… you were willing to die.
I used to write. Mostly poems and what-not. I posted most if not all of my work on fictionpress.com.
Some of them are quite melodramatic… and embarrassing, and some are really quite good if not a bit depressing and moody. But, goodness, I was sixteen… everything seemed dark and dreary. I should post my favorites.
I can figure out the point of anything
Just not as quick as I can mess up my life
With all my dreams hooked to hospital machines
I think, “let’s try redefining beautiful
when i get paid!