Glory is make believe,
Chirping on your shoulder,
Singing you to sleep.
Where,
Oh, where
Has my own gone?
I’m sick,
Long-
Winded, hateful
Notes
Get hung on my locker.
Jokes are told,
By inferior mockers.
I’m sad today, every day
But, it’s not my fault,
'Cause you aren’t here.
I’m throwing up
Over the toilet, again.
I’m simply sick.
My end.
Comments
Parson Thru | June 5, 2012 - 00:01
Is this the one where you wake up shivering on the toilet floor at 3am? I get that one :-). Thoughtful poem though. Not sure whether maybe pining for someone who has gone out of your life? Just a guess.
JessicaA | June 5, 2012 - 17:22
Thanks, it's something like that. :P
I'm a terrible poet lol, so it tends to be hard for me to make it all make sense the way I see it.
Parson Thru | June 9, 2012 - 01:11
Nothing wrong with this. Honest and real. And shared. Thanks.
JessicaA | June 10, 2012 - 01:09
Thank you so much Parson.