They can steal my tweets, my words, my jokes
Copy paste these words wherever they like
Get them tattooed in their skins for fake admiration
But they still won't feel what I felt
When I poured these words
From the black depths of my soul
Like dark blood falling on white sheets
Like dark blood painting the walls and ceilings
Painting patterns to invoke
The demons made of smoke
They won't know when I felt like shit
They won't know the elation, the joy
They won't know the sadness of lost toys
I've diluted the blood with tears
Just so I could write some more
About my hopes and my fears
They will never know.
I belong to these words
And these words belong to me
They can be stolen, but they'll never belong to them
--
I need to do a part two of this poem. Still feels strangely unfinished.
I so much relate to this.
ReplyDeleteAweosmely put !
Brillaint :)
superb! so true... words despite stolen can never be someone else's.
ReplyDeleteyeah seems unfinished to me too.