So this is a poem I wrote at about... 3 last night. And I'm sitting here in band, not giving a fuck about life, avoiding pretty much everyone, like I did this morning when I sat on the stage crying, listening to Sleep over and over again, and then I actually listened to Adam Lambert for a while, anyways. Everything today has just been.... all ironic lately. How when things crumble down... idk where I was going with that O.o whatever. Poem.
Barely asleep,
the terror restarts,
the monsters I've made,
singeing our hearts,
the torture, the passion,
I'll scream and I'll cough,
yet the smoke and the flames,
they'll never die off.
My whole world is burning,
to my left and my right,
there's flames when he's gone,
and flames in his sight,
his pure baby blues,
as black as the ashes,
will I ever understand,
the logistics of matches?
Run for our lives,
water for oil,
throw in regret,
and feel my blood boil,
try to wake up,
make it all go away,
blink out the vision,
of lovely decay,
and in the cool night,
I sweat of the fear,
I can still smell the smoke,
through this one simple tear,
and the hours shall pass,
and I'll sleeplessly cry,
because this is a world,
where those flames
never
die.
