deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Untitled
Without noticing action, my teeth are constantly grinding.
As this pain resettles in my mind, darkness becomes blinding.
I am a perpetual mind-fuck, swollen at the glands.
Unable to get a taste, your life is in my hands.
You're a responsibility too large, back into my pocket you go.
Suffocation is to not breathing, as love is to loath.
Dying inside myself, each day a new death.
Desperation is an intoxication, that you can smell on my breath.
I don't carry this shell for protection, I carry this shell to hide.
Failure became the option, when I began this life.
Fleeting are the moments, when happiness is true.
Fleeting are the moments, of love between me and you.
So I'll dust the dirt off my shovel, pull my other foot into the grave.
Bury myself in silence, and you'll quickly forget my name.
This is me hopeless. This is me at my best.
This is me placing, fatal wounds in my chest.
I have no more lives to give, my 9 has dwindled to none.
Only in death shall we find, how our pain can be done.
As this pain resettles in my mind, darkness becomes blinding.
I am a perpetual mind-fuck, swollen at the glands.
Unable to get a taste, your life is in my hands.
You're a responsibility too large, back into my pocket you go.
Suffocation is to not breathing, as love is to loath.
Dying inside myself, each day a new death.
Desperation is an intoxication, that you can smell on my breath.
I don't carry this shell for protection, I carry this shell to hide.
Failure became the option, when I began this life.
Fleeting are the moments, when happiness is true.
Fleeting are the moments, of love between me and you.
So I'll dust the dirt off my shovel, pull my other foot into the grave.
Bury myself in silence, and you'll quickly forget my name.
This is me hopeless. This is me at my best.
This is me placing, fatal wounds in my chest.
I have no more lives to give, my 9 has dwindled to none.
Only in death shall we find, how our pain can be done.
Published 30th Nov 2012
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