Litkicks Message Board Archive

*untitled*

Posted to Poetry




Oh,
like the copyrights streaked across the sky,
you and i, we sit and sigh,
unused, unloved
glaring at the passersby

i know that keyboards steal the soul
and i know that it will go
ever so
willingly through my fingers

i set the pencil on the side
with the feeling i have lied
laughing tho,
because all the contrasts rhymed

You turn to me and whisper "how,"
like you believe that its profound
your brow low
and your forhead furrowed.

and so we sit under the sky
spitting cliches as we sigh
unloved and sad
not bothering to try to try.

--not very good, sorry--
suggestions for a title?