Thursday 10 May 2012

I Don't Do Sadness

I can’t breathe. It’s spilling out of me, tearing
Me open as I fight to carry on.
You scratch, you punch, you scare;
Our plan to marry’s gone;
All the clothes I’ve tried, no matter what I’m wearing,

You don’t have a clue, don’t give a fuck.
Leave me at home, staring at the clock-
But no, I’ll stay composed,
Keep my chest locked and closed.

No matter what you say, you won’t sway me any way.
You can carry on; bed all the women that you want.
Be who you are: act like a child, be a little boy.

Just leave me to my pain, even if you can’t
Feel a thing, leave me now to heal;

I can’t look you in the eyes and see you not caring.

More rambling nonsensical poetry from my mad mind. Easy enough clue today; the prize? A trip to Ibiza with a packet of softmints (I provide the softmints, you provide the trip to Ibiza).

No comments:

Post a Comment