Just a poem of randomness. I can pose into any position, any form I want to be, but not myself, and it will always go into repetition. It takes all my energy, wishing I could get it back, I don't want it to be the end of me, yet nothing will go on track. Hiding myself can be my own place, my resting thoughts can go undone, and even with any pace, I feel is that my heart can never run. It won't soar, it won't cry, but it will wait for that shallow grave, the one that will look you in the eye. I may exist, or I'll be dried in the feverish sun, but sometimes I just wish, that my emotions would run, and I wouldn't feel lost anymore, Inside, somewhere deep, I can cry and think what I have don't wrong, I can hate everyone I see, instead of putting my emotions in a song, I put it in the words I breathe. If I could stop with this pose, and try to find what I need, I could breathe the air with my nose, and finally feel like I never had the nature to lose myself, and try to be free. ~If you want a poem, I always make them. But if you think it's not right, I understand. Thanks for reading if you did.
Well thats good for you. I'm a writer and poet who goes into inspirations from me or others, because I mainly have my moments.
As I. But I always get ill-tempered by the way ff as come to. *sigh* I used to love it here, and my friends who are amazing at writing left, and forgot me, because of how boring ff got. *fake whimper* I'm just hanging here.
.-. Also, from all the other stories, it seems like nothing will ever be noticed, even the stories that contain the best things imaginable.
Under my Sleeves~ Climbing off my bed, do I feel fine? instead the music in my head, I feel some sort of sign. Nothing doesn't move unless your moving, or even giving some an answer, even if the sounds are soothing, under my sleeves there will be dancers. The world I could of conquered, with my insecurities of myself, but under my arms they feel broken and sponsored, with the possibilities I could of felt. My emotions left all on the shelf, and I know I lost it all, but even if losing by myself, I won't be underestimated by the ones who crawl. Slipping into dreaming, and I feel like falling soon, I can heel believing, and talking to the moon. Under my sleeves, I can feel something, any type of peeve, I can feel like running. What ties to be free, and what comes from my broken dreams, Is another world, Under my sleeves. Another poem! Yay!
Wander~ I try to fit into the moment, but all the smiles crack over me. My heart needs someone to sew it, but it can always be so hard to breathe, finding what you need. I let myself wander away, travel to other places, and I won't let my heart rot to stay, just to try to aim it. My memories, can stretch to miles, But what can you find between them, it's nothing I can do myself. I let my mind wander, slipping through the cracks, and let my world grow farther, and give myself back.
Echo~ These walls I try to burn, to give all the thought away, and let my heart yearn, what I could of done that day. My silent whispers, turn into echoes, and my heart starts to blister, and I cry of memory. Memories can hold me down, but my echoes tear it apart. They have expression, passion, no congregation, and what I can only think others are ratchet. These words I speak, they can mean something, or nothing at all to creak, but all I can dream, Is what my echo is really like. Tell me, what kind of echo you make, and what do you feel, because I think there is nothing more I can take, then something that was never real. My. Echo.