Caught under the blanket of silent suffocation,
you need to be alone, I hate seperation.
Pain in tears, truth in fears, and a heart that was decieved,
Paralysis of all emotion replaces love that once believed.
This whiskey is my morphine, its effect is overrated.
This pain is so controlling and I'm no where near sedated.
When you close your eyes tonight, I hope you're sleeping well.
Upon shattered glass and spilt liquor, I will sleep in hell.
Author notes
Independence can't exist in a cliche.
A contest entry
- Counting The Days in Autumn by I Am Gun.
425 points, ended September 20, 2007, 8 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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i liked this but the spacing was really weird but good job, and i like the way used the words
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