What a face, a body, such a beauty A "perfect life" never lasts Nothing does--it all comes undone Sparks fly, stone hearts cry Too many words Wishing anything was a loaded gun Aesthetically beautiful works Creativity is only a salvation For the soul reduced to none Always wanting to know why Waited ten years For answers that will never come Just a kid--a fucking kid Who knows of nothing more Compassion comes from no one Never knowing what to do Desperation, but no ideas That's how it all comes undone No one listens but they hear everything And ignore it all While ignoring the death of one Too many words, silence will never come Creativity is the only salvation When you wish you were holding a gun But no one cries anymore What a horrible thing to get used to If they were right, If it really was a fault all this time, Then the blood that stains my hands Must be my own
Reason for writing:
she almost gave me the impression that they were refugees from their own past, thinking they could rid themselves of the problem of their lives by changing location, believing they only had to go far enough and they would leave their problem behind them. but sometimes it's just not enough
Birth sign: Gemini
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by Trisha Hanudel.