A bouquet of roses

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
a poem about some people who lived in pain

Submitted: September 10, 2012

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Submitted: September 10, 2012

A A A

A A A


A life has been sang with no rhyme or technique

You've been convinced that you're smart and extremely unique

Sitting in your room,staring,thinking,frozen,like antique

strong in doings,strong on surface,but inside so weak

Ignoring my responsibilities,waiting for the time to go faster

A slave to your commitments when you want the life of a master

I am stressed,i am tired,under every foot i want a caster

I dont smile,cuz every smile is followed by a tragedy or disaster

A demon wants to be released,i want to expose it

I have no mercy and no pity,i just everyday pose it

A poison i've prepared,for some people i'll them dose it

I'll kill my self,i'll put my self in a coffin and i'll close it

A child spent his life aching,and shaking in his closet

My soul is a rose,has been choked to death by its rosette

You explode if you have much anger and you dont have a fuse

You laugh and everybody cry,cry so you can everyone else amuse

Help alot,so can the people turn you to a tool for them and you use

As i used,in the raining days i go to my window,and i muse

I will rip my heart if it any other pesron ever in this life again excuse

Fuck a world where we used to live with killing and abuse

I want to be deaf,so that i will never ever hear the news

A memory of joy is remembered once or twice,a memory of sadness has a billion views

sleeping most of the day,and wiping my tears by my old pillow

in the bottom of my self the dead me was drawned by a felling's billow

And the happy me was hung by the sad me on a very long willow

inside me there's a screaming monster,stand beside me and you'll hear the bellow

i am not anyone's friend so never talk to me or call me a fellow

fuck softness and fuck every man proud to be so mellow

If my life has a soundtrack,it would be a sound of a sad fiddle

Solve me if you can,my brain is a mystery,a very hard riddle

I hate my beginning and my end,but i hate mostly whats in the middle

You feel that you are strong,wild,i felt like i am ferocious

My room is full by dead dreams,and full of my pains diagnoses

My heart is made of metal,and my veins are a plastic hoses

Visit me one day,my grave is the first to the left,the only one which upon it has no roses


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