Black Poetry : Confessions

lpoet

Well-Known Member
REGISTERED MEMBER
Feb 18, 2002
535
1
Indianapolis
Occupation
student
i did this with a friend of mines from another site....hes from england

he wrote every other line starting with the first...

I bury my head in my hands, with tears running down
fingers which
linger
long after im gone, the spirit of song, my mind in the
midst of here
and
there, neither either, but who cares?

I’m scared
Didn’t want to admit it but never been so aware that
“He’s” there
Stripped bare
Body lined with depression plastered in by the cold
stares

Fists tight together,
clenched in my hands these scattered letters,
my idol time is spent cold in sweaters,
pulling the wool over my eyes;
Hate being a useful evil for the devil's easel.

no point of reading, long ago memorized each line
slowly tilt my head to the sky
mouth foaming
blasphemous words erupt from my spine
this and my faith combine
revealing secrets buried deep within
the graveyards of my mind


Countless tablets,
the bones tired in masses,
i fear being buried alive,
at the same time i dread ashes.
trying to gather and follow rules, keep my saintliness
wanting to make a difference, when its easier to be the rest.

they say I’m blessed
blind to the lacerations embedded deep within my chest
saintly......nah
average at best
i sold my soul for this love but so many do
for so much less
I’ve held it in for so long but now i must confess
sick of chasing away my sorrow with chilled
bottles of henny and Newport cigarettes so i
bottle up my hate and let it float away with regret
 

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