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my sanity ticks away with the needle
as much as my shut eyes deny ownership
i ended up writing too much about myself
lying to poetry, cheating the needless nights

i want seriously to write about other things
about a girl who cried in the train i was in;
the bloodshot eyes, the careful tears, and
everytime her eyes remembers, she held herself

i may be wrong, my curious glances inattentive
because as she held her 'grief' from the public,
her lips curved into something that appeared
to be a smile. i mean, i do that sometimes

i wanted to write revengefully about a life
that sucks, friendship that hurts, or a past
that reminds - but pieces like these are just
so full of the idiosyncrasies of my mere attempt

 

 

 

(forget it

estherg

in the dark of my room at 3 AM