Paused

by untitledpoet

Posted to Poetry on 2003-07-08 08:48:00

I can’t write a word.

It’s cold outside, and the traffic,
through moving silence.
Two worlds.

I wish I could but it
would not resonate

The tree logs;
Sad and pitied isolation.

Why do I appreciate this poetry,
My love, my time.

The oil runs dry whilst
Painting my life lamp.

The truth is
I’m struggling,
Under the dark light of youth,
If there is such thing as a life,

Underneath the hide.

I can’t bare all,
In my nakedness I have no pity
For myself.

I leave, flushed,
whilst the shit departs.

Still?
Wish?
Upon the burning star of hell
I pray.

Off the street,
into the west sea.
Far I fetch the final
word.

Dear. 779
I left you at 23.

Play with me.
Cards?


















Because.
Continue.



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