My poetry.
This is awkward. Haha. Anyway, I've written some amateur poems (extremely amateur). Most of them are alt lit and some are just urgent thoughts that I wrote out. Depending.
Anyway, here's a couple.
The Black Nightmare
Tears sting my eyes as they cascade down my swollen cheek.
I’m trying to pull myself out of a catatonic state.
I close my eyes and feel comatose creeping in.
I wouldn’t be so lucky.
I fall into a dream where pain knows no reality, and reality
knows no pain.
It is only for a millisecond.
Only for a single barely funny joke,
For a bite of forbidden fruit,
For a touch from my fingertips, to you.
It’s only for a moment and then my mind is gone,
Into a black pit of oblivion where the word salvation,
Has no meaning,
And no substance.
Great
My love is on my sleeve.
And I have Daddy issues.
Beneath all of these clothes, I’m probably a slut.
You wouldn’t know, though. Would you?
My hands are brittle.
And I feel worthless.
Beneath all of this façade, I’m probably a burden.
You wouldn’t know that, though. Would you?
My eyes are tired.
And I belong to no one.
Beneath all of the noise, you probably heard me.
You wouldn’t know that, though.
Would you?
You
Did we waste our time?
Because it’s kind of
Feeling like it now.
In the back of your SUV,
with your hands on my hips.
And the lights gleaming through
Making me feel more alive
Than I actually am.
Makes me feel lesser
Than them.
Advantage
These hotels and bars are old now.
The beer has lost it’s “kick”.
And I’m too drunk to remember if
we touched or not, or if you just
touched me.
Because these neon lights.
Look a whole helluva lot brighter.
And these lines in your face,
Look sexier.
I look easier.
The Kill
She liked the way she looked in red.
Tried blood on for size.
Fit her like a second skin.
Eyes judged and her family reeled.
She didn’t care, cleaned the kill.
Fake
Her roots are darker,
Than she is.
Vinyl
Tried me on for size and I just don’t ****ing fit.
Said that she was too glamorous for this ****.
Took back my old clothes and even my records.
Said she didn’t like Emerson, Lake and Palmer.
Then I was sure.
We are alone, on our own.
The silence crept in and deafened me.
We’re not good enough, are we?
Nobody
I went through myself today.
All I found were pieces,
Of people.
that made me feel like
I was somebody.
Hey Mr Obvious
Blood thicker than mud.
With brittle hands that
cut me like a razor blade.
He said he wanted space.
Gave him whole goddamn world.
and
NYC
She laid down on the hands,
Of people she trusted
And fell.
Yep...
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