Thursday, January 1, 2015

Old Poetry: Without the Night

So I found some old poetry on my old laptop. I've decided to share, no matter how much anxiety it gives me. And it gives me great anxiety to share my writing sometimes. But I've learned from my many literary heroes. Not guts, no glory, right?

Without the Night

We’re all on the chopping block
But I’d rather be on yours
I’d rather be naked
Then covered in mud from his backyard
I try to resist temptation
But nothing’s left to be done
So I go my own way
And solitude follows
And I know I’m not a saint
I’ve sinned among the sinners
I’ve got it bad this time
And I just can’t shake it
When do we learn to fight?
When do we learn to heal?
Why is this so hard and disgusting
At the same time, appealing?
I will never trust
Though I have never lied
And the thought of lying next to you
Takes my breath
I hold it inside
The night overcomes us
And tragedy has fallen to light
This is a fucking nightmare

Although without the night.

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