I go to my death loving you
Though you never even knew
The flowers that you do find
Are dead from the passing of time
They lie next to letters never sent
I do not know where the time went
Many words I always wanted to say
My pain and shyness got in the way
Deep emotions kept hidden inside
Covered by tears that I never cried
Fear of being meticulously ridiculed
That was the lesson I learned in school
Now that I lay dying by my own hands
When you find me, you will not understand
There was nothing else I could ever do
Except go to my death loving you
Comments
I’m never really sure if I should ask
I realize the thread of tragedy is a commonality in most of your writing. I suppose some may find it depressing, it is your screen name after all.
How are you doing? You’ve posted some particularly dark stuff this week and I’m wondering how you’re feeling?
That stuff about school…that’s familiar. I was always the “crybaby”. What a circus! It’s like, you idiots go around hurting the feelings of everyone you interact with show none of your own, and operate on a level of selfishness only born of fucking privilege. (I grew up in a fairly uppity all Caucasian school system) I’m sorry you experienced this kind of torment as well.
I’m always around if you need a listener.
Tim
Thanks
Thanks Tim. Just going through some things but I will get over it. I always do.
good morning, Depressed,
your poem flows well without a glitch. how are you getting on? it is good to see you posting.
*hugs, Cat
Thanks
Thanks Cat I will survive.
Thanks
Thanks Kat. I think it is too late for me.
Too late...
depends on the outcome you might expect from the message. If one is not expecting a direct reply, a showing of recognition
or outright repulsion, then you could just be venting your exasperation at the refusal to acknowledge the message. Nonetheless, sometimes we find ourselves wondering... A good look at the mindset of a true romantic, who expects nothing but pain. Well done. ~ Geezer.
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Thanks
Thanks Geezer