Writing.
Is a way for me to escape.
Is a way for me to open my vent and let some of my feelings breathe.
Creating words with strong meanings,
Never noting how tense my own connotation is.
The tear filled letters fill your drawer.
I so much admire your rewire,
To a certain extent.
You cut me open with
Your knives of Rage to see what's within my white pages,
That I enveloped you in.
Denying to me how much
You yearn to hear my voice.
Its ugly....
Your words stab me.
Twisting and turning like
You never even cared?
Carving broken promises into my back...
"Forget about the past."
Even when you used the
3 words that fell from your
Lips like a wave,
Picking me up and sending me out to sea,
Only to drown what's left of me,
Relaizing how mistaken
I was in the very beginning.
I hate what I am,
I hate what I'll become,
I hate the world
So fucking give me that key to my shackles,
And let me set myself free.
YOU ARE READING
Poems: Gade 12- Present Day
PoetryFrom another guy in the world, to you. Words that aren't spoken, but remain true. I hope you find comfort in my poetry too. A rusted connection to my reality, because honestly. I've lost it.
