my writing.
i don't know why i wrote this:
She was innocently naive,
a sucker for a boy with a charming smile
Self-destructive by nature and beautiful by accident
her judgement now clouded by second hand smoke
and a dash of watermelon with a twist
shirts with plunging necklines, and empty 5ths
her left cheek up resting on the cold tile floor
She'll be forgotten like those nights she can't remember
She's not a little girl anymore
her kisses taste of sorrow and bitter lust
she crawling for a place in his heart, she must
her grave is maze of white tile, with gray grout
fingers pressed against textured stone, she'll have to do without
"bottles lay empty and likewise are hearts", she said
others stumble out into the night, dismissing her for dead
she can't recall why she ever mattered in the first place
"slow down sweetheart, you've still got that pretty face."
your advice isn't falling on deaf ears, rather ones that don't care
Go ahead gentlemen, plot your next sceme, i know you love to stare.
her attempts for redemption met with opposition
leaving her cold, lifeless body in a fragile condition
She says, "i threw down for that."
and others are intimidated, only because she tries
And tonight, the sparkle fades, the one in her not so innocent eyes
and another one.
A wave of indescribable regret crashs over her rock solid exterior
it's lurking in the hallways and pouring out of speakers
gasping for air now, she's all but desperate for things that could have been
Drowning myself in words I'll never breathe aloud
knowing full well, I'll fade and be replaced in the ever-more appealing crowd
the wallpaper is all but too stark white now
in contrast to the darkness eating away at her mind
with every step forward, she falls 6 months behind.
for the record, i officially hate iambic pentameter. 10 sylables in each line, 14 lines each make these here poems not just any poems, but *gasp* sonnets. british literature can kiss my ass, but here is what resulted from my endeavors in writing:
"Don't mistake my silence for ignorance
I know what boys like you are all about"
She says this quickly, in almost a shout
He replies with a wink and coy, "Alright."
This worn-out game is a proposed invite
He's obnoxiously grinning all the while.
And she can not help but mimic his smile
The corners of her mouth begin to bend,
Her regards and regrets she will now send
Send them to those many naive lovers
Who have been devoured in his covers
Full of angst and sorrow, she now says:
"So I can be displayed for all to see?”
She thought, “who am I now, to disagree?”
second one.
Her undergarments slip down to the floor
Now she adds four notches, not three, but four.
She’ll surrender only to crimson red
When tears are no longer enough to shed
Her naked arms relax in the dark
Her nostalgia will not leave any mark
She recovers under satin sheets
Scant amounts of heart left to beat
Affliction still remaining, I will erase
I will erase the lines of your perfect face.
I have pressed down so hard on delete.
But the phonograph is still on repeat
Still playing the song that was you and me
Yes, playing the song that was you and me