deepundergroundpoetry.com

R.I.P. (rest in poetry)

splattered that ink
fucked with my feelings
wonderful poetry
burnt up and gone from history
she came in as mysterious as she left
maybe it was the unknown
that captivated me
like a stranger entering in the night
taking my hand as we went for that ride
slow dancing with such intensity
all while never removing her mask

I try to look back at those words
"deactivated" like all the other poetic lovers
was it really that fleeting?
has me feeling like a two dollar whore
wish I could just learn to walk away
envious of those who have walked away
but poetry is my addiction
wanting more but only getting disappointment

as I lay another flower
on yet another grave
I wonder who will be the next
to bring me to ecstasy
or maybe I'll finally move on
and leave someone else feeling used up
like a wham, bam, thank you ma'am
rest in poetry