| |
They say you're dead...
But I don't believe you.
You're too good for that,
To go out with such a silent bang
like a muted murder mystery on daytime TV.
You gotta be brighter,
Higher,
But did you think about me?
Did you realize that I'd run to her
and have my heart stepped on?
Or that I'd be the one who would be
playing dumb.
That I would be accused, destroyed
humiliated...ashamed,
for all the sins I hated to commit,
Because you made me repent.
Had to be pure enough to stand by you,
But I'm not the soldier
who'll fight by you completely.
Nor am I here to be beaten,
To listen blankly to funeral reveries;
Empty coffins where you should be
symbolic of how you gave such empty answers.
Death like truth only comes laced with doubt,
as if to make us linger on you.
But I won't let you consume me like this.
I know what I am--
A disciple to you, the Apathy-Christ,
A scrap left from your feeding bowl.
A dying battle cry, fading and forgotten.
I am a scar from the demons that
clutch your soul.
I am an immature child,
A chaos factor,
I am what I cannot control--
But I am.
And that should be enough,
Even though I know that enough isn't divine.
Because I am destroyed by crooked teenage lips,
Blood red lipstick, a betraying friend,
and I can't help but feel you in her efforts.
Like a light of dawning realization,
and a presence,
heavy as the weights of wisdom, pain,
and the bleakness of your world.
While her ignorance is astounding,
I am destroyed by a simple flick of her wrist.
What would she do if she knew the truth?
A betraying friend,
Always thinks they're the ones in right.
What could she possibly know?
What could I?
Afterall, if she wanted to help
and I wanted to die and rest beside you,
we both could have done our task that night
I put the gun between my lips.
But that was a whole seven days ago,
And like a game of chess I'm reluctantly playing
I'm working up a strategy,
Trying out the moves you showed me,
Building a weapon of reflection,
to make it all seem "that much worse,"
like it were shown through a twisted mirror.
She doesn't realize I will conquer her.
She already thinks she's conquered me.
But I'm fueled by memories and madness,
your life is gone and I'm by myself
in this display case.
With her lies and your blood
--it's driving me mad.
Is it true that I
am all that you never had?
Is it true that you
No longer will stand?
Is it true that you're gone,
dead to this land?
...just keep holding my hand?
Just keep holding my hand....
I keep this up as an artistic honor to what lies I once believed. This poem is the clear representation of a time I'd rather forget, and while I love it, I would like to let everyone know that almost nothing in here is true, and was written out of pain during a very bad time in my life. Please don't take this for what it sounds like. Almost none of this actually happened.
|
Help Us Stop Plagiarism -
Nearly all works at PnP are original. However a few people choose to plagiarize.
To check, choose a phrase from the work, then either drag and drop to the search box or copy and paste.
click on search and works at Google will be shown which match. Just to be sure, please do this before
you recommend or rate the work highly...
|
 |
|
|
|
Select a Random Work
from Poetry
|
|
Welcome !
