PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Bohemien at heart
Money is a mirage
I look out the window afraid of the sunlight
I lay in bed for days with the TV on avoiding all the drugs
They’re out there trying to steal my soul; is the life of a moody son
Cause I become a different person when I drink
Sometimes I slash with pain thinking it would give me some relief
Sometimes I talk shit, my altered ego says things
This is the way that I try to escape from reality
And I know is not the right way, but that’s the only way I can escape
This mood music is not my friend, it helps me express
It makes me remember and I hate it. It hurts more to recognize than to keep it in the basement
That motherfucker creeps up the stairs trying to enslave me
Self-pity is the lowest sense of self, yet it calls me wraps me in its angel hell
I philosophize, rationalize why or why not, I don’t understand my self
Because I’m just blabbering, been honest is a bitch, I’m just fucking lazy

My basement, my fucking basement
I need a bigger lock and chain so I can repress it (x2)

I rather bottle it up, keep a fucking balance
If not I’ll fucking blow my brains quickly than the artists
Accountable for what I’ve done, my mistakes is something I run from
Is not to be heard is just a monkey I need to get off
I pray I’m able to understand what’s going on
The future must show me some love
Questioning everything, everything I do is not enough
I contradict myself in every thought, funny I feel like I was meant for something more
I rest my case, nothing more to say, is just a circled train in my head
Words can’t stop flowing off my tongue, when is this going to explode
Let the fire burn my soul, maybe I can get up and change my bohemian songs