PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I spit on you, just the other day, just to, just to see,

if you'd run away, cut you with the truth, just to make you bleed,

cut you with the truth, just to, just to feed my need.



You didn't even fight, didn't even fight, no no, not quite,

what to do with you, what to do, you don't even argue,

just take it on the chin, you make it so easy, so easy,

let's do it all again.



I use words like razor blades, truth made words, made weapons,

by deed, and no matter what, I did or tried, everything for you,

always, disappointment was mine to win.



So I'll use my razored words of truth, insightfulness, honed deadly sharp,

and I will bleed you, just as I must bleed too.



I spit on you, just the other day, just to, just to see,

if you'd run away, cut you with the truth, just to make you bleed,

cut you with the truth, just to, just to feed my need.



No matter how deep I cut, there's always more of you, deeper in,

never far from my mind, you touched my soul and left your scars,

added them, atop the rest, burned your way in, with the best.



I'd forgive it all, take back the things I'd said, if there was another way,

if I thought, you'd make the sacrifices worth the cost, if only you had tried,

more than the minimum.



Bring me back, the girl I loved and the friend I cherished, bring back that,

light to my days, and that smile to my eyes, reward the faith I fought so hard,

to keep.



I spit on you just the other day, because I was tired of your bullshit,

and neglect, to see if you would still feel, to challenge you with the truth,

hoping you would meet it, with emotion of some kind.



You just run and hide, cover your eyes, and plug your ears,

just hope it all goes away, worship apathy as your god,

become his fallen one, no longer the angel of my hopes,

just a sad, broken thing, puppet strings all but cut.



May you one day dance again, on strings of your own.