deepundergroundpoetry.com
the way we lived
he lived like a suicide note waiting to happen
the sadness in his eyes a mirror to his bloodied knuckles
the skin still hanging from the brickwork where he’d torn them
in a hurricane rage
there’s writing on the wall
it says you and me
faded among the cracking paintwork
and plaster holes
I’m dead on the inside
all the pretty words now left behind
for other ears to hear
I lived like a suicide note waiting to happen
with infinite grey eyes that could hide everything with a smile
bruised knuckles and a dented wardrobe
blood on the pillows from where I cried myself to sleep
last night
I longed for a God
and I prayed to fog-filled air for mercy and love
clawing at my skin when the demons whispered
my unsung sins
there’s a diary filled with memories
years’ worth of silent thoughts
and never to be read poetry
we lived the same way we died
to be reborn in agonising highlights
of a past that never truly gets left behind
-Eve-
the sadness in his eyes a mirror to his bloodied knuckles
the skin still hanging from the brickwork where he’d torn them
in a hurricane rage
there’s writing on the wall
it says you and me
faded among the cracking paintwork
and plaster holes
I’m dead on the inside
all the pretty words now left behind
for other ears to hear
I lived like a suicide note waiting to happen
with infinite grey eyes that could hide everything with a smile
bruised knuckles and a dented wardrobe
blood on the pillows from where I cried myself to sleep
last night
I longed for a God
and I prayed to fog-filled air for mercy and love
clawing at my skin when the demons whispered
my unsung sins
there’s a diary filled with memories
years’ worth of silent thoughts
and never to be read poetry
we lived the same way we died
to be reborn in agonising highlights
of a past that never truly gets left behind
-Eve-
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