PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Every morning may belong to trying to write any story,

but at night my poems take all the glory,

some whiskey i'll pour me, no one adores me,

so i take their words written and store these

empty broken promises, and broken glass sidewalks,

only when a mirror is held up does my pride talk,

i try to hide and balk on the one meaningful good,

now i'm gonna be lost forever wishing she could,

in time i'll move on but until then, why fight?

why yell? why get angry when i write?

in spite of my life, my sanity and heart,

it only takes one sentence for the end to start,

take each memory apart, because i over think,

memories could be dissected in a sober blink,

save your winks, smiles and heyys,

until you pick the yes or no way.