Tuesday, November 22, 2011


They will see this
But you never will
The desperate words I wish I could tell you
But maybe it's better this way
Because if they see me cry
They can laugh
They can judge
They can be as cruel and cold
And I can shake it off
I can stand back up
I'll trip them all eventually
Spit on their faces
As I pour the gasoline
I will always be the winner
But not you
I couldn't
Which is why I guess it's better
That you never see these words I write
Because if you saw them
If you read this confession of my heart
What would you do? What could you do?
Dismiss it, and me with it
Laugh at it, make light of it,
And me with it
Mock it, scorn it, reject it
And me with it
Ignore it, leave it, pretend it isn't here
And me with it
What could you do
That wouldn't kill me too?
So let them all look in
And try to trace lines to old faces
And figure out your name
In the end it doesn't really matter
As long as you don't see this
But if you won't see this
Why write it at all?
Is this stupid fucking hope again?
Yes, i called it by it's real name
The hope that loves to lead men on
Before trampling them under it's hard hooves
Hope is a demon, a cruel monster
So I'll pen my words
And keep my thoughts to myself
And I'll never tell you the truth
About how I really feel
And yes maybe they can read this
And yes maybe they can figure it out
But I don't even care anymore
I'm just so fucking tired
Tired of all of this shit
I am tidally locked to you
And you continue spinning without missing a beat
Why write? There seems to be no point anymore
Why live? There seems to be no point anymore
Why love? There seems to be no point anymore

1 comment:

  1. I feel like dissecting this from a literary point would be diminishing it somehow, so I'm just going to leave another one of my unhelpfully-empathetic-but-hopefully-affirming comments.

    Once again, a powerfully delivered depiction of a feeling to which I can relate. I really admire your courage in subject content choices-- thought processes that are probably plaguing more people than would ever admit it, but are too complex or painful for anyone to try putting into words. I wish I could be this vulnerable on a page.