Im Back.
Another pointless day. So much goin' on man. Finals and College and Bullshit. It's just crazy right now world! Tryin so hard to keep breathing.- I'll write more later. Here's a little writitng I just did for English. Morbid I know. But I was really into it.
Keep Guessing
My soul is one of morbid dreams and lonely nights. A crimson response to all that I’ve become, Falling upon yesterdays Ashes like a broken Memory in the minds of the forgotten. My photo is to be taken like the picture of Dorian Gray faded. Lost behind the eyes of stillness. I spend my nights playing chess with solitude while isolation looks on. It’s a lonely life my friend. Though it is all I’ve come to know. And on some levels will be all I’ll ever know. I am the lonely poet envied upon, for words have value in this life. Though it seems I write in code for behind the writing I still cry. Scream and rip my soul to shreds. Drowning in ink in hopes to be remembered. I’ve accepted the fact that only great poets are thought of after they die. So my death falls on the pages of agony. Writing my will in silence through poetry. And still you crave to read. Rip my chest apart with scars that never heal. Wounds of endless pains from those who buried me when I was trying to feel, hopelessly I roam in your dreams close enough to see you yet far enough so you never knew I, existed. I am the shadow in darkness that you fail to see. A faded picture of a hated memory, I am he. All that you pray your child to never be, I was born to watch you as you dream. So sleep peacefully while I slowly breathe over your body in hopes that you choke on hope. I envy you for being able to feel that of a calm emotion. My dreams have vines of cemetery trees and the leaves from the tombstones of dead babies. Morbid to a point in which you cringe at the thought of my mind frame. I am the tarnished angel with crippled wings and flying was never meant for me. I sit behind the moonlight’s glare and look into a sky in which I hope to someday leap. Only to smashed upon the sidewalks face. For at least then I’ll embrace something, though it be death. I break my fingers on the chords of faith, for it seems to do everything but let me play, the sweet symphonies in which my soul longs to write. Yet I so much rather read music that Lucifer likes. He kept his promise, to allow me to hurt; scream, and long for better days. Rather then being reminded of my mistakes. There are nights I fall to my knees and scream for forgiveness. But it’s as though I’m screaming to a deaf image. And so I shall scream no more. I’m dying behind night’s curtains. On the stage of endless hurts and pains I perform for an empty room. Though still it’s more support then I could ever imagine. I eat the maggots of a mangled corpse, and still I seem too unworthy to be filled. Even with the essence of another’s resting point. At least they sleep to the sounds of nothings and rest on sweet sheets of purity’s bed. I’m tangled in misery’s head holding on to the mangled organs of my chest. For I am my only comfort, bleeding endlessly only to bleed again.A never-ending scar that opens and rips my legs so I fall to the feet of the dead. I attempt to stand and view out a window that shows nothing more then what I’ve become.A darkness that overlaps sunsets…
An unfinished poem that leaves you guessing…
-Prolix.
Keep Guessing
My soul is one of morbid dreams and lonely nights. A crimson response to all that I’ve become, Falling upon yesterdays Ashes like a broken Memory in the minds of the forgotten. My photo is to be taken like the picture of Dorian Gray faded. Lost behind the eyes of stillness. I spend my nights playing chess with solitude while isolation looks on. It’s a lonely life my friend. Though it is all I’ve come to know. And on some levels will be all I’ll ever know. I am the lonely poet envied upon, for words have value in this life. Though it seems I write in code for behind the writing I still cry. Scream and rip my soul to shreds. Drowning in ink in hopes to be remembered. I’ve accepted the fact that only great poets are thought of after they die. So my death falls on the pages of agony. Writing my will in silence through poetry. And still you crave to read. Rip my chest apart with scars that never heal. Wounds of endless pains from those who buried me when I was trying to feel, hopelessly I roam in your dreams close enough to see you yet far enough so you never knew I, existed. I am the shadow in darkness that you fail to see. A faded picture of a hated memory, I am he. All that you pray your child to never be, I was born to watch you as you dream. So sleep peacefully while I slowly breathe over your body in hopes that you choke on hope. I envy you for being able to feel that of a calm emotion. My dreams have vines of cemetery trees and the leaves from the tombstones of dead babies. Morbid to a point in which you cringe at the thought of my mind frame. I am the tarnished angel with crippled wings and flying was never meant for me. I sit behind the moonlight’s glare and look into a sky in which I hope to someday leap. Only to smashed upon the sidewalks face. For at least then I’ll embrace something, though it be death. I break my fingers on the chords of faith, for it seems to do everything but let me play, the sweet symphonies in which my soul longs to write. Yet I so much rather read music that Lucifer likes. He kept his promise, to allow me to hurt; scream, and long for better days. Rather then being reminded of my mistakes. There are nights I fall to my knees and scream for forgiveness. But it’s as though I’m screaming to a deaf image. And so I shall scream no more. I’m dying behind night’s curtains. On the stage of endless hurts and pains I perform for an empty room. Though still it’s more support then I could ever imagine. I eat the maggots of a mangled corpse, and still I seem too unworthy to be filled. Even with the essence of another’s resting point. At least they sleep to the sounds of nothings and rest on sweet sheets of purity’s bed. I’m tangled in misery’s head holding on to the mangled organs of my chest. For I am my only comfort, bleeding endlessly only to bleed again.A never-ending scar that opens and rips my legs so I fall to the feet of the dead. I attempt to stand and view out a window that shows nothing more then what I’ve become.A darkness that overlaps sunsets…
An unfinished poem that leaves you guessing…
-Prolix.