portrait of
a place in time
somewhere far away,
you're wasted.
life is such,
such as this
your claims arose
there was nothing you could do about it.
shadows of
denied worth
locked inside,
without a moment to protest.
who takes it seriously
is there no one but me
am I fool to take it to the grave?
bury it.
who are you,
now that you're falling
I don't love you anymore
who are you
what do you want
just another chance to take this from me.
take it by the hands
and bury it.
portraits of
a broken bond
hang upon these walls tonight
laments of
oh, when will I be loved
echo your foolish, selfish silence.
well
who takes it seriously
is there no one but me
am I fool to see it in my reflection?
bury it.
when this feeling ends
would you let me know
I'm too weak within
to finally let it go
and bury it.
what makes this personal
acting like you don't know
touched me deep inside,
and then you let it go.
who are you,
you're just adding to
this gradual self destruction.
who am I,
just another pawn
your trademark game has just begun.
Bury It.
Comments
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Utterly sad this write is. The agony drips of each word in the poem. Bonds that seem indestructable at some point may be ripped apart in a thousand ways, none of which were seen by the eyes of those in love. And afterward these eyes see dreadful things. But they were capable of seeing the beauty in others once and they may be able to see it again one time, even if now it seems something far away from the heart that is bleeding. Stay strong.
U
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Thanks.
This is really not current feelings, it's just past experiences all clumped together. But they still feel real sometimes.
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