PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

high expectations are not my cup of tea, people need to stop tryin' to suck the life out of me..

do we return to the memories..? or do they come back to us?

the only person I really want to talk to right now is my father.. but why bother thinking about it.. 

I just want to question him on everything that seems to of passed us by... like the time.. 

or what we will become after wasting away.. after we've deteriorated & our skin is past grey..

slowly paralyzed, fingers first.. trying to figure this out, tying up loose threads.. 

I need to feel alive.. have I been living a lie within my head..?

or am I trapped inside, knowing outside is the reality in which you've been dead.

I could spend the rest of my life in bed, until i've cried enough tears to flood the entire house, both stories.

but wouldn't that just be a waste of potential..? to let the pain push me down, further each day.. 

the weight of nostalgia get's heavier, despite it's dismay..

memories are like an impenetrable fog, & everyone else gets the sunshine on their face.. 

do we all pity the fool, that is ourself..?