a knIFe In LIfEA Poem by Not herea knIFe In LIfE Cold bites, lungs tight, nothing's ever really right. You wait for the sun to shine in the morn and be bright, but to survive to that point you'll have to put up a fight. The fear is such a sight. In your eyes, blinding white. Put pen to paper, try to write. Still it's killing you with fright. You promise that you'll be alright, but I know you're just polite. You invite death with your last breath, and hope that it will come tonight. It's dark. Take a light. i'M SorRy We are the people of dreams, where everything tears at the seams. We are the people of things, where everyday we kill the kings. We are the people of tunes, 'cause they blow us up like we're balloons. We are the people of confusion, 'cause people wish that we were an illusion. We are the people you can't understand. We are the people that need to be banned. We've defeated your will. Under our spell, under our thrill. Burns like you're in a toxic spill, but you'll be fine if you tread with skill. Tread with care, if you dare. Be on the grill, if you will, 'cause we're all hungry, and a bit insane. We've waited to eat. We're a bit profane. i'M SorRy We swill the thrill from the kill. Be still. With a quill we will fulfill freewill. Decipher those ciphers, if you're the pied piper. Cause codes are the roads that I use. They flowed with indecent frequency throughout my delinquency. Back to the start where I carved in my heart the first part of an art that I'll finish with darts. Throwing darts at the wall, but they always will fall far short of their mark. I hope still for a spark to revive all the rhymes that I made in my prime, but that time is long past. And I'm still aging fast. This day may be my last. So take a knife. i'M SorRy We are the people of dreams, where everything tears at the seams. We are the people of things, where everyday we kill the kings. We are the people of tunes, 'cause they blow us up like we're balloons. We are the people of confusion, 'cause people wish that we were an illusion. We are the people you can't understand. We are the people that need to be banned. A dead man's brain makes a live man insane. A dead man's got no game because he's got no name. And a hurt man's cry makes a full man die 'cause a weak man's prayer burns an evil man's lair. And the dead man's ashamed 'cause the dead man's always blamed and the dead man's always flamed, but his baggage goes unclaimed. He's a killer never tamed, and a body never maimed. Nothing I can say makes sense to you because it's so sporadic and it's denser, too. 'Cause I'm denser than you and you're more free than me, but not all of the time because people still flee. i'm SorRy Who is Dead Man, you ask? Well I just can't tell. Because Dead Man is me; I'm the dead man that fell. But you see the body and you immediately flee, 'cause you don't know me. No, you don't know me. And you don't know what this poem means. You don't how this poem holds my screens. Shows a captive soul locked up and bound and tortured with spikes that go round and round. 'Cause this poem is freeing, but with myself I'm disagreeing. Now I'm almost out of battery so this is the end of my crazy s**t. Not sure where I started or where I'm at, but I've got no time for it. i'm SorRy Read requests go unread, dying men go undead, and I know that I'm alone. Call my number, smash the phone, 'cause this is my crazy tone. i'm SorRy I am the man of dreams, where everything tears at the seams. I am the man of things, where everyday we kill the kings. We are the people of tunes, 'cause they blow us up like we're balloons. We are the people of confusion, 'cause people wish that we were an illusion. I am the person you don't, can't, and won't understand. We are the people that need to be banned. © 2015 Not hereAuthor's Note
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Added on October 16, 2015Last Updated on October 17, 2015 Author
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