I cannot live and love a lie,
Because love is non-existent.
I can't learn, by and by,
because my mind refuses.
My heart is burnt and torn in two
If I can't love myself, how can anyone love me?
Love is not real. Not to me.
Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
Blood is red,
Corpses are blue.
I'm emotionally unstable.
Please.
Love me.
Wednesday 12 December 2012
Laugh
Poet's note: It took a long time to get around to finishing this, but here it is! It's a rubbish poem >.>
A warm room, lit by pale yellow lights.
She sits, and through her hair she peeks.
Her parents laugh and talk and joke,
But she sits, tears staining her cheeks.
A warm room, lit by bright white lights.
She lies, back down, hair fanned out.
Her parents frown at the rising cost.
But to save her life, they must hold out.
A cold room, lit by dim red lights.
She stands, face down, hands by side.
Her parents are not here anymore.
But to survive here, she must abide.
A cold street, lit by dim streetlamps.
She walks, face against the cold.
It's dark, and she's scared.
She's defied what she's been told.
A few years pass, watching her grow,
Physically, mentally maturing.
And now, on her own,
She lives, although always running.
Another few years, and her parents die.
She doesn't drop a tear.
Instead she smiles, remembering.
Memories she'd never hold dear.
She walks out the funeral, dressed in black,
She's walking without weeping.
Who's laughing now? she wonders.
Who's laughing?
A warm room, lit by pale yellow lights.
She sits, and through her hair she peeks.
Her parents laugh and talk and joke,
But she sits, tears staining her cheeks.
A warm room, lit by bright white lights.
She lies, back down, hair fanned out.
Her parents frown at the rising cost.
But to save her life, they must hold out.
A cold room, lit by dim red lights.
She stands, face down, hands by side.
Her parents are not here anymore.
But to survive here, she must abide.
A cold street, lit by dim streetlamps.
She walks, face against the cold.
It's dark, and she's scared.
She's defied what she's been told.
A few years pass, watching her grow,
Physically, mentally maturing.
And now, on her own,
She lives, although always running.
Another few years, and her parents die.
She doesn't drop a tear.
Instead she smiles, remembering.
Memories she'd never hold dear.
She walks out the funeral, dressed in black,
She's walking without weeping.
Who's laughing now? she wonders.
Who's laughing?
Saturday 8 December 2012
Not Applicable
I passed away on a Sunday
My parents didn't answer
When I called for help.
They were in church,
In their nice clothes,
Praying to God
About more important things.
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