To hell with poetic devices
Pain down my throat like too many spices
Tell me again...
of the boy who gave you a rose,
a stupid little poem,
lacking of prose
To hell with it all,
I've done it again,
speaking in riddles and rhymes
Can't you begin to see?
You mean everything to me?
You tell of this wonderful boy,
who you think is all that you need,
but what of his vision?
What does he see?
All of your imperfections?
All of your faults?
All of your beauty like me?
I'm so afraid my time's running out
A year and a bit
till high school is out
After that, will we still be friends
or with that last bell,
is that where it ends?
Turning to blood,
sand streams into glass,
of an hourglass-figure,
forget you my ass...
Remember when I was lost for words,
awkward as hell,
naive as well?
When I first thought "Oh she's kind of
pretty, I think I fancy her"
Only to realize I wanted you happy
So often since I've felt rather crappy
He's been given a chance,
like so many before
When is my chance,
to mean something more?
What is it now, five guys
you've gone out with?
But who's counting right?
Just me, nobody, always listening,
taking note
Each conversation able to quote
You've told me things
I don't want to hear,
tearing me down for over a year
Now I've got this in words,
meaningless letters and
ridiculous blurbs
I love you, have for so long...
The most random poem
that's ever been writ,
by a love longing fool,
who feels like a git
