To America
anger, pain, and sorrow raging inside yet seems so calm and collected
A poem about rhyme A poem abou time What can you say About their little fray Thee is never time
The time passes by with the anquish of tears The pain and sarrow are
it’s not so much a question of when but a question of how how will i live
maybe it’s all in my head that the world is really this crue… perhaps they are right that I need to let go but i can’t make myself do it
I’ve probably had about ten shots now trying to drown out her memory We left under harsh words, tears, and shouts
The wind blows softly across the meadow carrying the whispers of tomorrow’s sorrows If you listen closely
i hear people talk all day but they don’t know the words they say It’s like being on auto pilot same routine
There is a girl dead in a corner Does anybody notice of corse not Do they know her
i’ve never met somebody who set my blood on fire quite like this with flames moving throughout my body
stirring emotions voices in my head i’m so confused this isn’t normal this isn’t right
you said I was an angel yet i only see the demon you said i had beauty yet i only see ugliness within you said “beauty in the flesh”
Have you ever seen the gleaming wight teeth floating by your head Or the glowing red eyes underneath your bed
This isn’t a poem, it’s relly just… Of pain and sorrow And the lost maybes of tomorrow For i can’t remember a single happ… i remember smiling, laughing
A stranger standing In a street full Of people yet Can’t find himself People stand and