What's wrong with me,
I always fear the ending from the start,
Why haven't you just left yet,
My words and my blood,
Boiling on the hot tarmac,
I can't seem to cool it down,
And this is how I'm gonna die,
Burning up on the black asphalt,
Tell my friends I'm so sorry,
Not once did I call for help.
And I'll be here blowing the crowds up in tears,
And I'ma die here too addicted,
To the sounds of the bombs,
As they go off,
Set by little Sparks in the masses,
It's the temperature,
That's rising through the roof,
And these deathly toxins overflowing the hearts,
Before the bombs even go off.
Where is the fire alarm?
Somebody go pull it,
Before I even say a word,
I'll leave the papers here to burn up,
Like the flicker of my existence they are.
It's all in my history,
And I fear most of it feels imaginary.
The monsters that roam inside of me,
And just ghosts wandering aboard,
And these ocean waters,
Never let me keep anyone I wanted,
Oh so close on the darkest nights,
Weeks without a single star in the sky,
To be seen.
All these maps,
And I don't know where I am,
I still can not see the stars,
Due to the subtle rose tip fingertips of Dawn.
I do admit it makes everything feel amazing,
But I can not settle knowing I'm not on track.
YOU ARE READING
The Damning Of My Poet Soul
PoetryAnd all it took was one neat paragraph in pen. Enjoy some small teen me starting from like 2016 to like idk late 2018 I think early2019 I'm doing some rereading and retitling cuz numbers idk Thank you readers for over 4k reads. like is it good tho...
