Friday, January 22, 2010

(Untitled III)

He told me he knew someone who tried to make him feel bad; like the past wasn't past and instead should be dragged, back through his head until he couldn't forget, the sound of Her voice and his pulse pumping dread, so sick to his stomach -- wasn't it: She will never let go. There's messages daily so the whole world will know, and that's what he sees, that She's a disease, now he's falling ill, and She's falling for me, tells the world She's sooo happy, he found me at night, took a knife to my heart and, stared burn-circles into my eyes; I didn't think twice, I opened my veins and spilled out all my truth: "If this has happened to you then you'll feel like I do." This happened to him now he feels life anew, a feeling so few, have felt this until, She forgets all about you, and maybe She will. But maybe she won't, and aren't you so lucky, that the catalyst sits atop a mountain of bodies. He told me a story, but I knew how it ended, because there is no ending, when its Her you've befriended.


  1. There used to be more poems on here. And now there aren't. And that's no fun. Where'd they go? :(

  2. I went through at one point and cleaned house a bit. There's more now tho..

  3. I see that now. I'm digging the writing. Good job, you.


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