The Highs, The Lows, And RockbottomA Poem by DearSweetAgony I wear my sickly heart on my feeble wrists; tattered and bloody, I bless this curse with a blades kiss. It feels as good as a tigers sharp bite, And stains the blade like a high red kite Might stain the blue sky. But that poor kite is afraid of hights! And the string is rapidly fraying! As the kite finds itself weighing Out the possibilities of surviving! I guess thats the highs and lows of flying... And that same blade will Turn into a bunch of pills. That slide down so slowly And yet, sets a high fire within me. As my pupils grow I stop my blood streams flow. By entering into my flesh a poisonous, silver rose Thorn. That will eject its poison, and bloom in me before Spring, And its beauty will keep me from seeing The addiction that keeps me from living And acting normally. And all places seem the same and different From the places that I've been before, and yet, They appear differently From that cozy place that I used to be. But now, I am cold in the limbo of uncertainty. As the sun rests on the horizon, And I'm as high as an American Flag. My blood falls into the cadence Of the marching in my heart, that tramples my existence; And soothes me into silence. © 2011 DearSweetAgonyAuthor's Note
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Added on November 9, 2011Last Updated on November 9, 2011 Author
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