AlreadyDead (psykoboy2) wrote,
AlreadyDead
psykoboy2

Poetry Time

All of this was written during my big inspiration a few weeks back. They have no relevance to the events occuring in my life at the moment.

there's something about you
something inside
you're not quite sure
if it's something to hide

the fear will grow stronger
the hope less abundant
anticipation will build
once again all redundant

We've been here before
We'll be here again
This is getting old
Will it ever end

Just tell me you love me
Just tell me to leave
Whatever it is
Can we stop this, please

Constantly guessing
What it is you feel
Is constantly making
My love disappear

Then there is this one. Very violent, in fact, the only one of it's kind I have ever written or feel I shall ever write again. Unlike any other poem, this one seems to come from no where in my past. At no time in my life have I ever felt this way towards any woman.

I tire of your shit
I tire of your ways
You think you know me
In just fucking days

I'm tired of your lips
Your sex has grown weak
Keep your mouth shut
When I start to speak

Get out of my life
Get out of this heart
Get the hell out of here
You fucking tart

You make me so sick
When you walk in the room
All I wanna do is watch you
Burn Bitch Burn

You're making me mad
Everytime you call me
I changed the damn number
And yet still you don't see

How much I hate you
How I want you to bleed
How I want you to hurt
How I want you to scream

I don't want you to die
I just want you to learn
I just want to watch you
Burn Bitch Burn

Take back all of your words
You never meant them, you whore
Get out of my life
Just walk out the door

I'll never take you back
I'll never give in
To all you may say
You'll never win

You lost your last chance
And now it's my turn
To sit back and watch you
Burn Bitch Burn

This next and final poem was written for a friend of mine. This is the only time I will ever post this poem. Why? Well, I wrote it for her completely on the spot and in less than 5 minutes. I have no attachment to it what so ever except for the fact that I really love the woman who inspired this in me. As such, I gave this poem to her. She is to do what she wants with it. Even pass it off as her own, which she won't do, but that is the extent of what I mean, when I say that I gave this poem to her. It now belongs to her.

it's love
it's hate
it's fate
it's time
to let go of him now
let go in my mind
my heart stays true
my eyes begin to blur
my soul is torn now
as he sleeps with her
His picture remains
While his love is gone
i can't take this anymore
i feel the need to harm
my self
my soul
my body
my own
no anger
no hate
no more
of this sate
of mind that i'm in
i cannot begin
to tell you the loss
of losing him

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