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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2041837---Untitled--
Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Music · #2041837
I've got a problem.
It's midnight,
I'm fucked up.
Head's in my hands, I feel nothing.
Heart's on my sleeve, spill everything.
Phone's on my chest, it's dialing.
words on my tongue, but I'm failing.
Ghosts of my past,
it happens too fast;
these loves and these hates,
all flooding back.
They're listening
and laughing.
I'm down on the ground and they're counting.
First in the game but last to the fight.
Left's to my face, get hit with the rights.
My guard too strong, no scores for the night.
Pain's in my glass
but I'm still here.
Can't think twice,
have no fear.
I can run this.
Don't stop me.
All on my own, but still walking.
Or am I falling?
The journey's the same when it's ending
All faces,
say love me but in the end of it all, it's poetry.
Words on a page, no summary.
Need Cliff's notes cause I'm a dummy.
But I lie to myself,
need to try it.
These words from their hearts,
need to buy it.
Cause love don't sell short,
it buys cheap
and a home with no love
you don't keep.
But it's too much,
that's lunch.
Bell's rung.
I'm out.
Park lawn;
pass out.
I'm drunk.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2041837---Untitled--