Wednesday, September 4, 2013

How It Affects You.

Going, going, gone.
Pots and pans banging inside my head,
has been the only music that seems to put me to sleep.
Babies only cry when you've taught them to fear the sound.
And so that pure, soft sound of sweet serenity,
scares the living shit out of me.
Thanks dad.
Yo can never become too comfortable.
So never tell me you love me dear lover,
because I will be gone in the morning.
And if were too satisfied,
Than I will slip out before dawn.
Pots and pans banging inside my head,
has been the only music that has been able to put me to sleep
for the longest of times now.
Backwards footsteps race inside my head.
Dear dad,
I'd forgive you,
but these thoughts remind me that you're the one who cursed me to this chaotic lullaby.
You said no one would love me.
So far you're right.
Each guy that has known me for more time than necessary.
Pots and pans banging.
Yelling, screaming,
Don't console me dear lover,
I've been broken for longer than I care to admit,
And stuck here for longer than I would like to be.
Thirteen sucks when you're twenty-four,
And Twenty-four sucks when no one seems to love you.
Pots and pans banging.
Yelling, screaming.
Dear lover,
I promise to leave a lipstick stained kiss to remember me by.

1 comment:

  1. Nice! A very personal and raw but no love."Thirteen sucks when you're twenty-four..." that says everything. Stunted by trauma. The best poets are naked. Good work!