I'm British, fourteen, living in america *gag* hahha jk, it's pretty nice here. But i'm probalby moving back to Britain Land for college and such. Poetry is amazing. It makes me feel like i can do something... |
Lying in bed as the tears creep near,
Losing my life is not what I fear...
I came to see you and your face of cards.
But I sought what was wrong and missed by yards...
Bucket of nines on the table, words playing over...
He makes his way out on the prayer thats at hand...
(1st Verse)
Sick of this feeling gotta get away from you...
Wishing you to hell and back, will never quench my...
But only on the darkest night will my anger...
Dear America,
Your shores are long and golden...
Vortex of spinning fury,
Hurricanes of dim fate...
Do not walk,
Do not talk...
Why does it always end with a kiss?
Why does it always end up like this...
Sometimes I feel that in the end,
I still havent more time to spend...
What can't be done can be said, and if not said, what is there to be done? |
Darkness is not what you make it, it is there, lingering, always shadowing the past present and future, all one needs to do is simply turn on the lights. |