living dead

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    • quise
    • Now keep in mind that im an artist and im sensitive about my shit -eryka badu

    Poem Commentary

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    living dead

    some say sleep is the cousin of death
    in that case ive been hanging with the grim reapers relative for years 
    earlier today well at 3 o clock pm i awoke from my 13 hour night sleep to see your face telling the world finally awake 
     i remember my night sleeps were only 6 hours when i had known you 
    i knew when i awake i have something to look forward too.
    now the closest i get to you is in my dreams
    makes me want to yell out and scream
    13 hours that means
    im dead for over half my day
     and what do you have to say
    nothing but argue here argue there
    do you get tired of yelling at me this part of love is unfair
    do you care
     i doubt
    i dont think you understand me so i shout
     is it you i cant take 
    everytime i talk to you i start to shake
    im sixteen and getting gray hairs
    i found a couple in your hair
    guess thats your stresses spare
     we cant even say hi anymore without arguing
     why so tart you seem
    i shall not ask cause its like a chore a unwelcomed task
    take off your evil mask
     and just relax
    enjoy the moment
    the day is ours its nothing to be wrong with
    were in love were gods angels
    not the devils ghost
    why do i hang on
    why cant i love anyone else 
    the words i love you come after every arguement
    isnt it scary my heart can you please carry
    i guess we argue for the times after where the love feels stronger
    when it feels like love we have conquored
    who wouldve ever thaught you would come down to this big city to be with this country bonker
       its time for me to go
    im yawning now dont feel like arguing as if its going to make us grow 
    and if i die in my sleep tonight i love you from now to forever just to let you know
                 -god son

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    WinterFrost commented on living dead

    07-07-2009

    Yep get busy living or get busy dying. And to sleep perchance to dream... death better known as the Big Sleep.

    If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.

    Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) American poet.

    quise’s Poems (32)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    A kiss unfelt 1
    what a heart would say 0
    my silent cry 0
    love or illusion 0
    The question 1
    LOVE IS TRUE 0
    REST IN SLEEP 0
    wheres my hoodie 0
    new smile 0
    living dead 1
    black rose 2
    glass flowers 1
    too late to give up 4
    is he just a man 3
    why does she stay 4
    i still love you 0
    the reson i cant love 3
    spontanious (short) 0
    blessed (short) 0
    eternity (short) 0
    confusion (short) 0
    take it slow (short) 0
    blessing or lesson 0
    where did she go 0
    i will 0
    my hearts cry 1
    cause she loved him 2
    my final goodbye 2
    king hansom 2
    poem my heart wrote 0
    my late night prayer for her 3
    MRS.AFRICAN GODESS 2