When your world finally begins to crumble and fall apart around you, I’ll have already meticulously built mine up to be greater than yours was, is, and ever will be.
Pour cement down that rabbit hole, put a curb at the top, let it dry, and lay your teeth on it as I stomp the back of your head. [Metaphorically speaking, of course!] How’s that for a mother fucking Wonderland?
Still bitter and holding a grudge. Oh well.
…the last girl you were seeing was younger than your niece.
Autumn started on the 22nd, yet it still feels like Summer… And no, I’m not talking about how hot it is, or the weather in general, or anything natural. In fact, this “extended Summer” to me is just way too unnatural. In other words: my foot is stuck in the gutter…
Are you confused yet?
Trying my hand at poetry again, after so many years of verse-writing hiatus…
In my near dead head
I have dreamed a dream
That she was staying, not straying
In reality, I have seen a scene
Where I’m believing that she be leaving…
And she left, and no one wept
It’s a start, but I’ll see what comes from it…
In a rope that starts to fray, it’s funny how the last thread takes the longest to finally snap (in dramatic fashion, of course) and give up the weight it’s holding. It’s ironic that the last thread is seemingly the strongest when a rope’s integrity, reliability, and durability is dependent on the number of threads still kept intact. It’s as if that last thread was the key to holding everything together - not the rope in its entirety. If that last thread had a label, it could be labeled as “hope”. Hope is always the last thing to break (if at all) and to give way to the pressures. And without it, everything falls apart.