The thing I liked about you was that you were hot.
The thing I liked about you was that you were out of your mind.
But the full one eighty.
A colossal concoction of fucked up –
Just add water.
I always liked playing with fire.
Fortuitous, fateful flames
kept me fucking warm.
– And check this
I lost the parts of me that were strong.
Your ego lit the path
And I had to hitch a ride.
Your words were poisonous
like pills you had prescribed.
I couldn’t see the Machiavelli
That danced behind your eyes,
Your letters might as well
Have been in Braille,
cause I was blind but
now I see
That your love didn’t exist?
Did I miss it?
Or reject the fucking truth?
In our youth
We make mistakes,
But there’s mistakes and then there’s YOU
You who made me apologise
Seeing things that others saw,
My own voice
Like it was from another planet,
Did you plan it? My abuse?
Or was I a happy accident?
We drank from bottles to throttle pain, I wonder if you remember
The sleepless nights of September, dismembered thoughts, tender embers?
Your words evoked a mist of tears,
Amidst the fears, amidst the smoke
Now I have no violin
To fucking serenade you home.
I don’t want you to know me
But I won’t let you forget me
Don’t want you to hate me
But you don’t deserve to love me
And through the haze
of midnight gaze,
is bitter on my tongue
I fell young,
Too highly strung
To make a sound.
I’ll hold my hands up
And admit that I was lost
but now I’m found
If you recognise that line,
It’s because I fucking stole it
You can judge me – you won’t budge me
I’m done with being sorry.
You never cared about my needs
Only cared about your wants
Guess what? I’ve found my voice now
And it says that you’re a cunt.
I’m almost sorry for my language
I want to express just how I feel
Besides, they’re only words
It’s your fear that makes them real.
And now I sit inside a room
Downing whiskey like it’s water
I glance around this place
for stories, tales to tell my daughters,
But maybe silence is the book,
And apathy the title.
You’re not even worth these words
Cause words can be made powerful,
I’d rather use the silence
To suffocate you, to negate you,
It’s ironically absurd
- I’ve noticed –
That the answer is unspoken word
Remind me to note this
Down, to bear in mind
I write a poem.
Depression is synonymous
Just depends on your perspective,
Irrespective of your treatment,
I won’t die
with a restorative.
And there I go again,
Stealing words from Newton to the bard,
No writer is original
Cause that would be too hard.
I know that you’re still bitter
That I fell not at your feet,
Know your bullshit will be flaunted
just cause I don’t weep
Or crumble into a corpse,
Instead I morph
Like Franz Kafka’s creation.
But of course, I went off course.
Yep, still no remorse
But I’ll accept your plaudit
In due course.
These words that I have spoken
Are like a note inside a bottle
They probably won’t reach you but
Hey, at least I’ve got some closure.