(i know it's crap dont remind me) plzkthnx =)
ok this is a shitty poem i wrote a while ago, but it pretty much describes how ive been feeling the last little while i found it in a notebook so yeah...enjoy.
.........I am sadness.........
by me.
I'm made of the dirt that lives under your bed,
and the lonely tears that you cry to darkness,
im made of the heroine you pump through you veins,
in your sad attempt to be Hollywood.
the only thing i mourn is the loss of face or my dignity,
brought on by the stupid people who talk down to me,
I'm smarter than i let you think,
well whenever you actually use the braincells to do so.
i am made of insomnia ridden nights,
filled with tormenting thoughts and "what if"'s,
i am made of the last breath taken by the dead,
exhale the last lungful of life giving oxygen.
my only thoughts are to hurt and be hurt,
in this never-ending cycle of wounded flesh,
listless motions binding my insides for hours on end,
for i am alone and i know it, im no longer in denial.
i am made of the chill that runs up and down your spine,
cold complacent minority for the lost conjoin in spite,
i am those few thoughts in your darkest moments that whispers,
"death would be the best road to take you're better off dead"
my one and only occupation is to make you miserable,
turn your insides out and against yourself,
you mean nothing to me or anyone else why do you even bother,
to get out of bed, to live, to be someone you're not.
The thoughts that haunt the inside of my head,
are often hard to take,
for i am my own worst enemy,
i live for sadness sake.
.........I am sadness.........
by me.
I'm made of the dirt that lives under your bed,
and the lonely tears that you cry to darkness,
im made of the heroine you pump through you veins,
in your sad attempt to be Hollywood.
the only thing i mourn is the loss of face or my dignity,
brought on by the stupid people who talk down to me,
I'm smarter than i let you think,
well whenever you actually use the braincells to do so.
i am made of insomnia ridden nights,
filled with tormenting thoughts and "what if"'s,
i am made of the last breath taken by the dead,
exhale the last lungful of life giving oxygen.
my only thoughts are to hurt and be hurt,
in this never-ending cycle of wounded flesh,
listless motions binding my insides for hours on end,
for i am alone and i know it, im no longer in denial.
i am made of the chill that runs up and down your spine,
cold complacent minority for the lost conjoin in spite,
i am those few thoughts in your darkest moments that whispers,
"death would be the best road to take you're better off dead"
my one and only occupation is to make you miserable,
turn your insides out and against yourself,
you mean nothing to me or anyone else why do you even bother,
to get out of bed, to live, to be someone you're not.
The thoughts that haunt the inside of my head,
are often hard to take,
for i am my own worst enemy,
i live for sadness sake.