A year of desperate poems.

That’s exactly what it is. So far, 2017 has been a year of surprises, realisations and a hell lot of desperate poems.

Plus, I am wayyy irregular with my blog. I am sorry sweeties ;-;

I was shuffling through my poems, and found this single decent one. ;-;

Enjoy ;-;

Of all the people in the room I’m undoubtedly the biggest admirer of life
isn’t there a beauty in everything around me;
even the way we fall
crumble
And disappear?
The way we smile in despair?
the way we talk
lies rolling out of our tongue
the way we cry;
Aren’t we pretty when we cry?
arent we mesmerizing when we try
to frantically hide in our little cages?
Aren’t scars beautiful;
and prisons wonderful
to be in?
I can never get enough of you, sadness
Ill come back misery, to admire your beauty
Will you spare me for a while if I tell you I’m just tired of everything around me?

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Words

The innocuous, petty strand of letters

What good would they do?

They drain my eyes, weave the lies,

And paint my heart blue.

By and by, when they fall,

Raw and roaring, they devolve,

Don’t plunder the streets red;

With blue ink, they bloodshed.

Leave marks of knots and crosses

Carefully stained, I keep them in the hall of fame;

My hands are anyway, better adorned with them,

Than scars I used to tame.

Look, my words are a mirror,

To everything around;

Letters mould themselves to create perfect chaos,

And silently scream out loud.

Words, you say, what good are they,

To guns and swords in any way?

My weapon fills the vacant,

Strip the world naked, 

And survives even when your weapons decay.