Never again will I do what the love song says,
I won't stay to the end and love you to death.
Experience has taught me it all ends anyway
as people do change.
Like the seasons air always re-arranged.
The leaves colour spectrums range,
carried away by the whirlwind of life's events.
Fragments of segments never centered in cement.
Though the roots of the tree begin to produce again.
Truth to the cliche,
love is in the air.
I exhale it everyday.
The beloved photosynthesised tree giving of my life to you free and you pay with deceit.
To be a tree of love not reciprocated to me
is easy when you're used to downing whisky neat in feeding the fundamental human bare necessity.
I've never met Baloo but I continuously bleed for red roses I've yet to receive.
To societies standards my description of
beauty is no higher or lower than ugly.
but if we ever met awake from my dreams
I wouldn't offer him a fruit, I'd make him a drink and we would toast to not fitting in.
In the world we're born, raised & forced to live in.
So I spend ample time in my mind travelling to fantasies of my favorite childhood books
afterall we should do what makes us happy,
who cares what people think?
but we do, now I'm an alcoholic.
An olympic athlete winning
the 80 metres sprint from vulnerability.
Still for you I'll continue to plant the seed,
I'll hand you me being your everything for you to succeed on a legal wealthy title deed.
But make no mistake you won't make me
your stampede or joint of rolled up weed.
I no longer hope that you will miss me.
I know you will because In time you'll realized you messed up a friend, a love, the best of someone.
Eternally that is,
May your soul always be at ease.
Call me a bitch. Sarcasm is the only fluent language with no anxiety induced stuttering that I have to express this " babe you're my everything" need.
You'll love and regret the choices of your actions that were always to your satisfaction
for infatuation of temporarily pleasurable distractions.
From this equation
I've made myself the subtraction.
I will be self loves seduction
Whilst you apologize to Miss Jackson.
I won't be the consolidation
for the consequences of your less than favourable activities.
You are life's destruction to instruction,
in Germany's fast lane read "caution!"
red flags waved up ahead signalling that there is a structure in construction,
To slow down in approaching the upcoming junction.
But my seatbelt I won't fasten.
I won't stay for the crashing
no love is worth becoming the assassin.
I am a mansion of passion
always on the end of high fashion
never in need of re-election and always in production.
You'll love me forever
when you realise in myself alone
I, found better.
YOU ARE READING
Truthful Hypocrisy
PoetryA collection of self written poems. For the lonely, For the broken hearted, Beautiful well meaning beings looking for their own pure hearts feelings.
