Coffee cup watermarks on old tablecloths,
those same empty whites that swim around,
those same hollow irises.
This poem feels like it's already been penned,
inked into verse like blood into veins,
half writ story of a qaurter of a life.
Sprawled across the cold floor,tonight,
lying limp to the tunes of Bastille,and a starless sky,
It's raining down in torrents too hard to fight.
Sprawled across the cold floor,tonight,
lying limp to the tunes of Bastille,and a starless sky,
It's raining down in torrents too hard to fight.
A bottlecap full of vodka trails down our chins,
as we try in vain to turn sorrows to many a giggle and grin,
Do our tragedies end where our new stories begin?
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as we try in vain to turn sorrows to many a giggle and grin,
Do our tragedies end where our new stories begin?
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The rhyme scheme in your poem is, in a word, admirable..
ReplyDeleteI can only hope to attain your level of prowess in poetry.. :)
Hey Jude (pun intended xD),You have a lovely name,and Thankyou so much,it means a lot! I just write what seems to make sense,so just follow your heart and your words will reflect the beauty :D
ReplyDeleteLOL.. nice.. and thank you! <3 I really felt connected to 'you' in a way, on reading this.. Nice way to turn typical objects and events to bring out your emotions and your message... I have a question though, what do you mean in the last line, "Do our tragedies end where our new stories begin?"
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