Stop holding back.
Don't take it back.
To my act.
This is how dreams get made.
If I were born of pixie dust and crack.
You must be made of morphine and gas.
Don't believe what I say.
I can't be ashamed to say what I say.
This blood that runs through my veins is just a drug ready to shape.
It is my cancer.
My undying request.
End that this pain is only my forsaken shame.
I end my grace like a act at a play.
My brothers and I show our shame.
Only through our grace do we sell these lies and dreams.
This is a finale.
Our last song to sing.
Our spoken suicide In a form of stories and notes.
This is my poetry.
Ready to be set free ?
This is a lie only in a mask of mice.
We are the soldiers and pawns of this game.
My brothers and I.
Anglio, Johnathan, Chris, Alex, Peter, Dante, and Nikki.
We've been driven blind in this sight of lies.
This is how we create a mad man in our lives.
My addiction to this is like a moth to a flame.
I get brought in like I'll never get it again.
I'll face reality like a drug dealer saint.
Selling dreams to a man with no destiny in his hands.
Take chances with faith.
Blind luck is what I'll say.
This is the end.
Never to forget.
The saints in our name.
Well never be said in vain.
Ladies and gentlemen,
This is not the end.
Remember me.
The no tongue saint.
The man who spoke these men.
In only my own imaginative ways....
Goodnight and rest in peace.
My story ends.
As the rest of me still speaks.
YOU ARE READING
The Meloncholy Diaries
PoetryThe Saints are misunderstood childhood friends who are seeing the world as what they want to be and through a sinners and a Christians point of view. They are all based on my creative saints. Still Ongoing though. List of the saints: Dreams Saint Ha...
