Am I bleeding?
Show me the black and white.
Show me I was supposed to stay.
I'm just scared
By the loud noises
And the thought of losing myself.
Let the blood run down my throat,
Feel the cooling warmth,
The red tint to it.
It's a beautiful thing,
Meeting you,
But I didn't know it'd turn to this.
You, creeping into my window,
Late at night
And turning into quite the opposite of what you convinced me to see.
It was better to die by your hand, I suppose,
Then my own.
Put me last in line,
Never reminded me to remember myself.
I'm so glad I can forget you after this.
Can't wait until my face is blurred out of all our pictures,
Because people are too afraid to face the old me.
You take the shiny piece of metal out of your coat pocket,
And splatter the walls with my insides.
The last minute bugs are inside my brain,
Leaving me with my old regrets and bad memories.
Is this what death is?
If it is, I think I like it,
But I wanted to live on,
To succeed,
To make my own father proud.
I guess we can't win them all,
said a person once to me.
I wish I coudl've kissed the world goodbye.
Oh, well.
Forget it!
I'm ready for it.
Take a picture,
Tell me if I'm dead,
Let me read the news article.
I'm not happy about these choices you made me choose,
But I can accept it with a smile,
Just like I always have for you..
It's a beautiful thing,
Meeting you,
Wish you were different.
|
Email this Poetry
|
Add to reading list






