Tears runnin' around, competing for the first prize.
Frown, hanging upside down on this face of mine.
Pen writting the words, playing with the sound of the poor.
My hand waiting to punch the nearest wall, I just want to stop felling so small.
Active toughts in my brain, they are all the same, bad and insane.
Trying to escape througout the gloomy day,
Is it so bad, that I want to die?
I know it was just a word, but it started the voice in my mind.
Maybe,just maybe I'm trying to fall apart. I want to retire from this life.
Look,
Yes,I think this might be wrong, but god forbbid that I'm not good enough.
Just leave me be, 'cause the voice will go everywhere with me.
All I will become is a burden to carry around with your heavy load.
You will try to apologize, but I don't want to come in your way.
The words are daggers to my heart,
There's someone waiting for me, he's called death.
I'm sorry ,my dear friends
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BINABASA MO ANG
Hideaway
PoetryA person with a pen in its hands can do more damage than anybody else. Everybody has something to help them cope with their problems. Mine is writing poems, if we could even call this poetry... Anyway enjoy.
