(no subject)
a gorgeous train wreck with a million children under the tracks is the way I descibe my life.
As pathetic as that is.
and I grew out of metaphores... cause metaphores are for poetry whores who have no balance.
but I'm slipping back in.
So I'm going to follow this threw with the old form that I wrote in,
because I miss who I was & hate who Ive become even though when I was what I wish I was now, I wish I was what I used to be... even though neither that I show was completely, entirely me.
I'm an even measure between the two.
But even between the split of me,
three things remain to be, constant.
The wonderful emerge of alcohol, the constant jamming of punk music in my ear, and words with little rythmn.
As I slip into my finer years where the boy pants and baggy band tees seem to disapear,
I still stuck to the love of drowning alcohol down my throat,
as I used to begin to choke on beverages consumed through out the night
coming up awkwardly through my throat began to feel alright.
become conforted with never having enough,
filling myself till I was full,
the world spinning faster than reality,
and pouring more and more into my cup.
Constantly filling myself with words I wish I should have not said,
even though tonights way far ahead,
I planned and planned on how to say it,
sober of course, but my mind mistaked it.
And then I grew a little taller,
friendships grew older as well as stronger,
I started intoxicating my lungs
with white and brown cigarettes,
glue to those bottles were my lips,
that taste on my toung, was constant.
Constant constant constant.
constant.
i needed something else to believe,
So I broke you down, packed you up.
Smoked those green weeds,
and comforted me to the fullest extent.
My mind was dying.
My mind was dying, and I was content.
Cause I'm sick of thinking and I'm sick of hoping, and I'm sick of praying to my absence, and I'm sick of lack, And I'm sick of coping, and I'm SICK OF BITCHING, and most of all I'm sick of rambling of what I'm sick of and I'd like to be honest if I may.
Lying was hardly ever my way.
Except when I was young, and by young I mean ignorant, and by ignorant I mean alive.
But not to long ago I ceased.
Accually cut back is what I mean,
Cause once in a while I'd need a drink, to take all of this away from me,
Basically take me off my feet.
Those of you who want to know,
well if you do, your checking up but so,
what do I care.
So there.
You don't get to know of my new life.
I've moved on with differant stride.
And I have a hell of a lot pride.
All you need to know, is I dont need you.
I dont need you bros, hoes, and I told you so.
so fuck off.
quit playing friends if were just memories assholes.
AND this isnt about you you stupid bitch, more than just you fucked me over.
so you can take that gay shit off your myspace.
As pathetic as that is.
and I grew out of metaphores... cause metaphores are for poetry whores who have no balance.
but I'm slipping back in.
So I'm going to follow this threw with the old form that I wrote in,
because I miss who I was & hate who Ive become even though when I was what I wish I was now, I wish I was what I used to be... even though neither that I show was completely, entirely me.
I'm an even measure between the two.
But even between the split of me,
three things remain to be, constant.
The wonderful emerge of alcohol, the constant jamming of punk music in my ear, and words with little rythmn.
As I slip into my finer years where the boy pants and baggy band tees seem to disapear,
I still stuck to the love of drowning alcohol down my throat,
as I used to begin to choke on beverages consumed through out the night
coming up awkwardly through my throat began to feel alright.
become conforted with never having enough,
filling myself till I was full,
the world spinning faster than reality,
and pouring more and more into my cup.
Constantly filling myself with words I wish I should have not said,
even though tonights way far ahead,
I planned and planned on how to say it,
sober of course, but my mind mistaked it.
And then I grew a little taller,
friendships grew older as well as stronger,
I started intoxicating my lungs
with white and brown cigarettes,
glue to those bottles were my lips,
that taste on my toung, was constant.
Constant constant constant.
constant.
i needed something else to believe,
So I broke you down, packed you up.
Smoked those green weeds,
and comforted me to the fullest extent.
My mind was dying.
My mind was dying, and I was content.
Cause I'm sick of thinking and I'm sick of hoping, and I'm sick of praying to my absence, and I'm sick of lack, And I'm sick of coping, and I'm SICK OF BITCHING, and most of all I'm sick of rambling of what I'm sick of and I'd like to be honest if I may.
Lying was hardly ever my way.
Except when I was young, and by young I mean ignorant, and by ignorant I mean alive.
But not to long ago I ceased.
Accually cut back is what I mean,
Cause once in a while I'd need a drink, to take all of this away from me,
Basically take me off my feet.
Those of you who want to know,
well if you do, your checking up but so,
what do I care.
So there.
You don't get to know of my new life.
I've moved on with differant stride.
And I have a hell of a lot pride.
All you need to know, is I dont need you.
I dont need you bros, hoes, and I told you so.
so fuck off.
quit playing friends if were just memories assholes.
AND this isnt about you you stupid bitch, more than just you fucked me over.
so you can take that gay shit off your myspace.