deepundergroundpoetry.com
UNTITLED
INK HITS THE BLANK PAPER WITHOUT KNOWING WHAT THE HAND WILL WRITE
IT'S LIKE MY HAND HAS ITS OWN BRAIN AND IS JUST RECALLING THE EVENTS OF THE NIGHT
UNFORTUNATELY THE WORDS NOR THE INK IS DARK ENOUGH TO MATCH THE MADNESS AND PAIN
I KEEP REPLAYING HOW WE SAID OUR SAD GOODBYE AND I GET CLOSE TO BEING INSANE
EMBARRASSING ME, PUTTING ME ON BLAST, AND PHONY TEARS HAVE GOT ME DRAINED
BREAK UP TO MAKE UP, MAKE UP TO BREAK UP, LIKE THIS IS JUST A FUCKING GAME!
I KNOW I HAVE MY FAULTS, BUT ITS A TWO WAY STREET WHEN IT COMES TO THE BLAME!
IT'S LIKE MY HAND HAS ITS OWN BRAIN AND IS JUST RECALLING THE EVENTS OF THE NIGHT
UNFORTUNATELY THE WORDS NOR THE INK IS DARK ENOUGH TO MATCH THE MADNESS AND PAIN
I KEEP REPLAYING HOW WE SAID OUR SAD GOODBYE AND I GET CLOSE TO BEING INSANE
EMBARRASSING ME, PUTTING ME ON BLAST, AND PHONY TEARS HAVE GOT ME DRAINED
BREAK UP TO MAKE UP, MAKE UP TO BREAK UP, LIKE THIS IS JUST A FUCKING GAME!
I KNOW I HAVE MY FAULTS, BUT ITS A TWO WAY STREET WHEN IT COMES TO THE BLAME!
Published 16th May 2013
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The author encourages honest critique.
16th May 2013 7:05am
Sounds like another bad night, yo! This is like a poetry slam, like when you shout it out? And point at your head while you say it? I see that....
16th May 2013 7:08am
16th May 2013 7:10am
