My Last Day

You are not wrong, not in thinking

That all my life--has been a dream.

Still, all my hope flies away

I can't accept, why can't you believe?

I tell you in every way.

I tell you in every day.

There isn't much else left for me to say

I gave you velvet feathers,

So soft for you to touch.

They were died--with the darkest and purest of reds--

The blood so fresh for you to see.

The aroma was one, of any all flowers for you to smell

My tears they fell as the rain.

The harsh cries were morphed into the wind

The rough skin of my fingers.

The warmth of my palms.

There isn't anything left I could give

Nothing that could ever make you calm.

You are not wrong, not in thinking 

That all my life--has been a dream

Still, all my hope flies away

I can't accept, why can't you believe?

I tell you in every way.

I tell you in every day.

There isn't much else for me to say

A pointless scream stabs the still air

A harmless smile graces your calm face

A beautiful tear cascades a rosy red cheek

A horrid growl penetrates the calm.

Why can't you see what I can't accept?

Every step I take

Every breath I breathe

It is pointless in the scheme

This scheme that has taken hold

It won't let go

Oh God, please!

Why can't I save someone, anyone, from these terrible days

From these terrible ways.

From the screaming, the crying, the death they themselves create.

Anything everything I try= just as pointless as their cries.

Oh.

Take my parting kiss and hide it. 

Hide it well. Take this information and guide it.

Guide it to ears that will stop all the tears.

The tears and the fears that seem to rule this world.

You are not wrong, not in thinking

That all my life--has been a dream

Still, all my hope flies away

I can't accept, why can't you believe?

I tell you in every way.

I tell you in every day.

There isn't much else for me to say

And with this, I end.

I end my last day.

Author's Note

Dudes! I've not written a poem in foreeever!
So please please please review, or send me a message or something telling me how I did. Because I'm seriously freaking out about this here piece. And you do not like it when StoryTailor is freaking out about a piece. Because then the world blows up.

The end.

Which is definitely not pretty, do everyone a favor: Tell me how I did. Even if the poem is a turd juggler. Because if the piece is a turd juggler I definitely need to know so that I can help stop its turd juggling ways. It is never good for a piece to be juggling turd, and I want to stop mine from turning to such destructive habits. But the only way that I'll ever know is if someone tells me what they think about the piece.

So yeah, either it's a turd juggling piece, or its not.
Point being I don't know till you tell me.
And if nobody tells me, the world blows up.

You make the choice here people.
Lets be smart.

Reviews

[Hailey]

haha this piece is definitely not a t**d juggler, it has all the flow and emotion that a poem should have and was written well
you did great :)

[StoryTailor]

*Boom*