Skip to main content

(anger)


Yeah I got a scar but baby
now its healin up
so I hope you're ready
because I know youre not so tough

The thing about a scar is
that they're thicker than before
I'll be ready for you hunny
Don't come knocking at my door

All I hear is static
Can't hear over all this noise
you like to play with people
but those people aren't your toys

Don't preach about respect
when you have nothing left to give
It's like killing someone
then trying to tell them how to live

If the shoes are fitting
this is probably meant for you
So tighten up your laces
because I'm only speaking truth

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

stop

stop telling me whats perfect stop telling me whats best stop telling me that I can't trust the heart inside my chest stop telling me "be honest" it's all I ever do stop telling me its all ok, can't trust myself, or you stop telling me to trust the plan, I'm tired of the wait stop telling me "stop crying" because you're a little late
Post a Comment
Read more

surrealist

Catfish walking sideways down the never-ending hall. The waves are crashing hard against the wooden castle walls.  Red carpet spans the spiraling staircase. Up, up, up, it goes. See the stars twinkling down into the yard, a massive garden erupts from the ash. Petals are dancing through the night as the brisk air whistles through the trees. Say it isn't so as the night begins to end the sun peaks his head up from the waters loving grasp horses silhouetted atop the river's hills dew sparkling in the new found light hearts are racing through the fields of green If home they were, then home they must go. Eyes are sparkling in crevices and crooks. One more day may pass, or has it gone? Just listen to the moonlight as it starts to sing its song.
Post a Comment
Read more

Realist

I slowly sip my sweetened tea while I stare blankly at the glowing computer screen in front of me. An average day. My fingers cascade across the keyboard clicking at each key as they find the desired letter. Silver gleaming, my hands are heavy. I look around at the messy room around me. Art scattered about, light peeking its way through the shutters. My eyes wander back to my mug. Empty. My fingers stop clicking. The soft hum of the air conditioner can now be heard. Calm.
Post a Comment
Read more