Falling in love is fucking stupid
but cheaper than drugs
and no more lame than watching TV.
If you stopped to think (but you don't)
you'd know what the end of the line will be
because it's happened before.
Some highs, some lows
and the longest stretches of monotony
"worth it, worth it" you will tell yourself
a litany of self-delusion
and one day the shock...already? over already?
How can you live with the hollow, the emptiness
which was probably always there, but it took falling
to identify it.
Then you will resist knowing that life is grey
remind yourself of that one glorious night
when you grasped a shooting star
worth it...worth it...
and it exploded in your chest in effervescent ecstasy
and you told yourself this would MEAN something
and always have been worth it, worth it
and ending don't matter because there is NOW
but the grey light of always
takes the glow off your rash self-promises, doesn't it?
Like the rash streetlight that forgets
to blink out at dawn
"Yes it was worth it" you insist bleakly,
turning the pages to Keats
"high sorrowful and cloyed
a burning forehead and a parching tongue"
and you will be so much wiser and more sophisticated
momentarily
until the next fucking stupid time
you fall awkwardly into (worth it) love
oh but this time's different
DU LIEST GERADE
Sweeping Winds and Rainbow Beginnings
PoesieThese are a few of my poems. I would prefer to take my time and try to sort the better ones out from the rubbish so it might take me a while to collect. I hope you can stop by and enjoy a poem or several. In poetry (good or bad) we express something...
