I knew it was coming.
Deep down in the bottom of my heart.
But that doesn't stop the hurt,
that doesn't stop the pain,
like a little gremlin climbed inside my chest,
and broke a few of my ribs.
It hurts.
And I don't like the hurt.
You can't put a cast on broken ribs, you know.
You just have to let them alone,
and hope they'll set correctly.
Which is what I have to do.
Thinking of eating makes me want to throw up.
Just like the memories I hoped we'd make,
in a year or two.
God, I am such a fool,
to say that I will not cry.
gee caila, no good poems?
ReplyDeletedamn, dem gremlins done fucked anotha brotha up.
ReplyDeleteI hate how people are so pretentious that they cant say anything to a persons face anymore, and instead resort to cussing and rudeness to compensate for the intelligence they clearly lack. Go make something of yourself rather than rag on people who already have.
ReplyDelete