i think about you when the walls are drawn up
everything colored inside
except us
i think about your love
on sunday morning
in a hoodie and sweats ready for a marathon
i think about tomorrow
the what if and what not
as long as the what if is you
Tag: Poem
off course
everything is diluted
run through a steel strainer
run dry
pillow talk is the only talk
ran it’s course
off roadin’
scrapyard
you changed a lot-
all for the better
just not sure who’s
all in an attempt to be better
just not sure,
better than who,
i hope you sit down a write this out
before all that is left
is a scrapyard
of mixed dreams
false identities
wrapped in a fleece blanket,
each step was good
it was your own;
all i remember is the cold
i can feel the cold
taking over
like an ice age
over summer
jail cell
can’t be the breaker of chains
when your own dreams keep you bolted down
masking your insecurity with fools gold power
got you here, begging in front of an earless ghost
to let you free;
but you’ll be here in the morning
with a new plead you can try to be free
from your own self pity
let the world come to you
the power will only keep you here
out for the count
fight about me
i’ll sit ring side
run play by play
get mine
while you lose yours,
didn’t wanna be the one
but i’m the one
an it stressin’ you out
want me to take you out
tell me i’m the one
an you hate it-
only stay one night
three nights later we’ve seen
every episode of full house
who’s dreamin’
delivery every night
don’t wanna leave this bed
an you hate it
be okay
it’s far away
maybe tomorrow
years from now
just know it’ll be okay
i am sorry, justin
i am sorry,
i could give you every excuse in the book:
four classes and work
pokemon is calling my name
toxicity leaks from veins,
yet nothing grieves me more
knowing i kept you on hold
i can say i will make it up to you,
but this stylish line only dazzles
in a mirror,
you deserve better
it’s just not in my veins
four apples
hands behind my back
these aren’t the apples
i was looking for
i remember
the strength leavin’ my tips
for four straight nights
four bars over four moons
this cell is my home
brought an apple every fourth hour
four steps in four steps out
just the white lines on the stone ground,
they were different four days ago
is this
granny smith
wallowing in the dry;
living for a challenge
set the difficulty early
left in a gutter
waiting for rain,
like waiting for a god to remember
what they left here
wallowing in the dry
crying for remembrance
at your temple of worship
not to be left here to die,
you’ll get back to me
probably not, but that’s what prayer is for
Saint's Muse 