Does poetry mean anything to you?
The lyrics of my soul. Painted black and blue.
Hating you, molesting you with my words.
But how exactly does that work?
You could ask your guide-less god,
He had a mouth-full of cum covered paragraphs.
I probably can't make you laugh.
But I could always split your jaw in half.
I won't fight, not at first. I bleed apathy. I piss worse.
Tell me "I'm pretty!" Look deep into my eyes.
Feed a line I used on you twice.
No expression , there's nothing I havent faked.
How can I hurt, when I can't feel.
The drugs been telling me you're not real.
What's sacred is the time that I wasted.
The tears i've shed to the sacrilege i've tasted.
Experiances I could never take back.
The ones I try to forget. I have nothing to regret.
I hate alot of people. Some probably hate me.
All I have to say is a simple cliche,
miserable cunts love company.
I don't need a person in the world.
Thats a lie.
But I appreicate writing.
Poetry. There's no sense in hiding.
When i'm
by myself.
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