PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

And so I settle into this comfortable routine of green and words you refuse to say to me.  I would like to see rivers washing clean the streets that we have beat, but the dirt remains a constant steady stream.  I wake up, go to school, stay cool, go home, keep low, fight right every night and sleep.  And God said change was as simple as left from right but I am standing on his seat and tearing down these tight dry words on repeat.  Fuck the things they said, they swore were easy.  Heads are rolling and we don't even feel queasy.  My heart is dying and I'm not even uneasy.



I don't love the things I lost but I gave my life for them anyways.  I drabble dark gray through everyday, swear its worth the pain, on bad nights smoke it away.  I wonder if I will depend on the nozzle like a bottle for a babe, sucking for comfort, night and day.  My words decay the cliche, convey dismayed expressions on a dark face.  Fuck the things they said we would grow to be.  They whisper this world is a sad display, and I don't feel inclined to disagree.  The only things I keep are my pipe and my astringincy.  My heart is dying as if it was a gaurantee.



My daddy feels no love, my momma smokes pot.  My best friends brother dropped dead the sec we heard the shot.  My time is up, my hope all gone- keep what you can, its not a lot.  Your closed eyes are all you've got.  Open them, and you'll see the blood he left on the spot.  You'll regret finding the things you sought, cause you'll make yourself die for someone you forgot.  Fuck the things that were supposed to help us survive.  Heads are rolling as we count the time.  My heart is dying as if it was never alive.