Poetry as its best worst

Currently: Ben Folds/Rufus Wainwright – Careless Whisper

Truly now…

My love for thee has withered dead,
I’ve healed the scars from where I bled.
I’m stronger than was before,
And I shall be alone no more.
Your wicked heart consumes like fire,
Your evil mind like muck and mire.
I pity you and those you love.
But I am free.
Fuck you.

Regret this I will,
Soon as the sun crosses my windowsill.
I feel my mind wanders far too much,
Reaching back to feel your touch.
Instead of feeling full of grace,
Hatred treads across my face.
How could this happen to we?
For love conquers all…
What an obtuse plea.

But now I must away to bed,
To quell the voices in my head.
The voices fill my heart with fright,
They scream and keep me up at night.
At times I lie awake till dawn,
And not till then the voices gone.

Pray thee not be filled with sorrow,
I shall return when it is morrow.

I know that I such at poetry… forgive me for what I write because it is sooo bad! I woke up and felt the need… As a bonus it is fashioned into the shape of a fox in a sun dress. haha. I need to get back to sleep.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *