I really do believe there is a vast difference between who I am in reality and who I write to be. I doubt I could ever appear as dark as the words I write (or as optomisitic as I may sometimes appear) but I enjoy writing very much... Poetry is definetly new to me though |
Love is a bowing victim of humility
A growing torrent of vicious spite...
There's nothing in these words
To draw my own attention...
I paint a picture with my thoughts
A burning image of endless loss...
With vengeance my heart does beat
Against ambition in her eyes...
The bliss of so dreadful a dream
Brings tears to my world's transgressions...
I have discovered a humor which dosn't make me smile and masks laughter with a painful cry of agony... The face of irony of a most despairing kind. |
I'd look out that window and see a sole bench made of marble stationed near the edge of the waters. And quietly I'd thank god, for there was the sign that there was still some good in't... |
Real decisions mean being torn helplessly between what is right and what is easy. |