Untitled2
Time going,
Leaving behind nothing but rust and decay,
Flinging hearts and souls in a whiplash of motion,
Love and hate shredding everything,
Everything dying, slowly and miserably,
Falling down from the heigths of hope,
No one there to catch you,
Nothing there to break your fall,
Pain pushing you faster and faster,
Onto the shards of life.
Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.
Unknown Source
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
|---|---|---|
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
| Untitled2 | 0 | 10/10/2009 |
| Untitled | 0 | 10/10/2009 |
| fear the best | 0 | 01/27/2009 |
| shadow man | 1 | 01/27/2009 |
| torrents? | 3 | 01/26/2009 |
| breathless | 0 | 01/26/2009 |
| cursed | 2 | 01/26/2009 |
| non existence | 0 | 01/26/2009 |
| darkness in the heart | 1 | 01/25/2009 |
Please login or register
You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
Login or Registerleave comments/feedback and rate this poem.