Words are just words They say But if they’re “just words,” Why do they hurt so much more When they tell the truth?
All I have to say Is I am incomplete A story left unwritten A page left unturned But that does not matter
Empty eggshells Line the floor And you can’t walk across Or get to the door. You can’t reach your shoes,
Something warm has curled up inside my chest. It is filled with hate, with sadness, with things I cannot express.
The wind– A finicky rush That has to be somewhere else All the time. The faint echoes of summer
The clouds in the distance Sit, patient Oblivious to my need For rain They promise the rain
Maybe I resent it because I know that since it meant so much it hurts so much more. And maybe I resent the fact
Wet paper arrows quivering against the bright string of the bow. The arrows
If I died And no one knew, I don’t know. And I am scared And everything hurts
i am unsure where you are in this night. it is cold it is dark
We used to have the same lunch, didn’t we? We used to laugh at the same jokes… wouldn’t we? We were woven from the same fabric
I stand at the door What am I waiting for? A whisper or a breath To tell me to carry on? Carry on, carry on.
What am I without poetry, Without words, blossoming on the page? I would be but a shell of myself And you would find me
Knowledge is pain, Knowledge is power. The beauty of knowledge Seems so tangible and so beautiful… That mankind must have it.
morning rays peeking through the c… dancing close to you quiet stories told in the dark sleeping in movie nights