|
|
| Author |
Message |
toking
|
|
untitled toking
|
Jun 21 12:58 UTC 1999 |
So I almost broke down again
But I've grown too much for that
But not too much to think
So I look at all of this
At everything I think I've done
In the last three years
All of it
From being lead to believe
In some untitled piece
(of self indulging crap)
To finding I'm enthralled
With one more obsession in "Waiting"
(and knowing that I want it)
Profiting from pain
Every missed heart beat
Or stagnant tear
Recorded and exploited
Every vindictive stab
And I am sickened by myself
My wallowing in misery
I did not create my own pain
But I relished it
Finding comfort inside bitterness
Screaming into the eye
Of a simple spring drizzle
How long can I last?
Thriving on pain
Selling it like some cheap whore
For a bit of peace
That I know won't come
|
| 3 responses total. |
toking
|
|
response 1 of 3:
|
Jun 21 12:59 UTC 1999 |
I know it's not finished, I'm not sure that it can be finished
|
jshafer
|
|
response 2 of 3:
|
Jun 21 20:37 UTC 1999 |
"Finding comfort inside bitterness" - Hmm, I kinda like this one.
<ugh is amused>
One thing that sorta distracted me, right at the beginning both lines 2
& 3 begin with "but"...
|
bookworm
|
|
response 3 of 3:
|
Jun 22 17:23 UTC 1999 |
You know you're a poet when everybody tells you that a poem is finished but you
know it's not.
This is very good, Joe. Very evocative of several emotions with which I am
very familiar.
|