I don' t like your poems
They break the bounds of poetry
Leave me helplessly sore
And I struggle not to read
I don't like your literature
That barely qualifies as it
But it's your wors I hate
Above all things
*dazed in a net of fire, I feel
wishing I would be the one You praise
defenseless and chained, I fight, I feel
and I write words to unease You*
To hell with the never ending stanza
My eyes grow tired and my heart grows sick
Unconscious, meaningless sentences
If someone else understands, to hell with
Never ending ego
You love yourself through your words
You love yourself through your loved ones
You set your own love traps
Dreams you created
Love you made up
I wanna scream
I hate your poems
They break the bounds of poetry
Leave me helplessly sore
And I struggle not to read
I don't like your literature
That barely qualifies as it
But it's your wors I hate
Above all things
*dazed in a net of fire, I feel
wishing I would be the one You praise
defenseless and chained, I fight, I feel
and I write words to unease You*
To hell with the never ending stanza
My eyes grow tired and my heart grows sick
Unconscious, meaningless sentences
If someone else understands, to hell with
Never ending ego
You love yourself through your words
You love yourself through your loved ones
You set your own love traps
Dreams you created
Love you made up
I wanna scream
I hate your poems
1 Comments:
At June 3, 2005 at 2:23 PM,
Master Enigma said…
1833 - Edgar Allan Poe "I have often been reproached with the aridity of my genius; a deficiency of imagination has been imputed to me as a crime; and the Pyrrhonism of my opinions has at all times rendered me notorious."
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