PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Her walk is such a stride, she keeps me nearer than I. It baffles my mind, how her laughter makes me smile, even though joy died. I feel alive. 6 feet under, I am high. Dead man, dead weight, and she's just the prettiest paper plane. I have to become something more than human, to save me from myself, so I can save her. My insides black, I taste my taint, my heart lost purposely, so I can hate, but the void not empty, I'm saving grace. Incase it's not to late, I know the place, its but a heartbeat away. When darkness turns to light, it is in one of the fifty fades grey right before the silver line. If ever I'm not human, because iron men dont fly paper planes, nor should they ever try.