PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

This couch is so uncomfortable

It knows my face well, I've passed out at least a hundred times on it

From the hundred proof after you slapped me and vanished

Now lack thereof your presence, I am numb

But before this bottle is gone I will chose my gun

And as the door slams the residue shall disperse

On my hand is the lack of your heart

The product of your hurt



I’m glad you don’t have to see me like this

I’m keeping this one for myself

I’ll secretively place it on the basement shelf

So when you try to clean yourself from the past

Your heart’ll fall and hit hard on the slab

I’m glad I won’t be around to see you like that



Forgive me for taking the easy way out

But when I was a child I was looked down upon, ridiculed to no end

And when I’d tried to defend myself I would get too nervous to

No need to say that that’s not how it should work

No need to pretend anymore, to any extent

This is the product of their hurt

The beginning of the end



Register your social security with the local county clerk

It’s not enough anymore to just believe in what the world is worth



I’m glad you don’t have to see me like this

I’m keeping this one for myself

I’ll secretively place it on the basement shelf

So when you try to clean yourself from the past

Your heart’ll fall and hit hard on the slab

I’m glad I won’t be around to see you like that



Forgive me for taking the easy way out

But this couch is becoming more and more comfortable

More and more, with each passing day