I couldn't think of a name for this poem
Stolen Pencil420
Posts: 119
I need money to get by
I'm sick of this regular high
I feel alive
But I want more
It seems that I shut my own door
Crying to the world about my sorrow
It seems I'm not comfortable in my own skin
And the lies people have been telling me
Are ever-so slowly wearing thin
Cut my locks because they pull me down
Pull me down into the ground
Wicked mind but a beautiful soul
Where I can feel the gaping hole
Afraid to die
Afraid of pain
Praying that I don't go insane
Afraid to cry
Afraid to wane
Can I get rid of the scars inside of me
Purify me and set me free
I have to leave now
Time for sleep
On my mattress
Is where I'll weep...
I'm sick of this regular high
I feel alive
But I want more
It seems that I shut my own door
Crying to the world about my sorrow
It seems I'm not comfortable in my own skin
And the lies people have been telling me
Are ever-so slowly wearing thin
Cut my locks because they pull me down
Pull me down into the ground
Wicked mind but a beautiful soul
Where I can feel the gaping hole
Afraid to die
Afraid of pain
Praying that I don't go insane
Afraid to cry
Afraid to wane
Can I get rid of the scars inside of me
Purify me and set me free
I have to leave now
Time for sleep
On my mattress
Is where I'll weep...
"Trying to be a person you're not is a waste of the person you really are."- Kurt D. Cobain (R.I.P February 20, 1967- April 5, 1994, we love u Kurt)
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Comments
Touching, oh theif of pencils! I think many of us have a soggy mattress! But you've got to let it out somewhere and your bed can be very comforting and forgiving.
Don't get too down though, try to free yourself!
~~~
Rush Hour, 422 West, on a Dreary Monday
May 13, 2002
Tourette's
Screaming at me
The sky
Gray and bloated
spits God's cum on my windshield
in sticky mockery of drought
Just open the fuck up already!
Pour on me
Rain in my hair
Wash my skin
storm crash sweep flood drench whip ANYTHING
more than this spray of commuter spittle
Filth-laced spew of a world that doesn't care
beneath a sun that doesn't shine
Tourette's
On repeat in my player
No, this is almost perfect
Cobain-belched obscurities before
A blinding torment of acid rain
At 80 miles an hour
Wish the world could for one moment
Be just as formless as today's bout of despair
JUST FUCKING RAIN!!
Show me
Not everything has lines and distinctions
I feel like I'm the only speck
That doesn't
Unzip the swollen sky above me
Murkwash this life into blurred tail lights and harried windshield wipers
Hydroplaning Pontiacs to the tune
Of dead rock stars