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Release me.
Shiver shiver, wither come hither..
B l o c k
Poets stop even once in a while, to write in prose, to pause yet rhyme, to make her smile.
Why can't words be spoken with a human feel, instead of pretending and lending lilt to it all.
People don't talk in iambic time, instead they persist and say what feels right.
Who said a poem could not be formed in sentences, instead must consist of short phrased crevices?
My head is full, it's had enough. It seemly can't cope with all this crap.
Why can't life be simpler? Does it really HAVE to be a real f***ing killer?
I try and try yet seem to fail, at everything, anything, and to no avail.
It's getting too much, I just can't cope. It's enough to act tough, but beneath I seek, something with more peace.
I guess I just can't seem to find, what it is to make me truly happy.
Right now I am alone, staring at a blank screen with the feeling of something I just cannot pin.
If for once the answers would just appear, it would make it easier and much more clear.
I'm s**t at this, once I belonged to something better.
