I feel as if I’m running in quicksand,
I go down and down as I go faster and faster,
I doubt that you’d actually consider this friend,
Cause there’s so many others that are better,

I don’t wish to turn into a self delusional fool,
Mistaking things for what they’re obviously not,
Sometimes I really wish I’m Mr Hot & Cool,
Cause maybe then I’d get a possible shot,

Hope will kill us all, period.
Life’s a bitch, and then we die.
But then it’s not the death it’s the hurt,
Of failing terribly when I decide to try.

Author's Note: i swear, the next poem i write won't be a crush based one. i don't even know why i'm writing these. maybe it's cause i wish to have a crush or something. blah.

Labels: Seasons of September

Drip,
From my slit wrist,
My life.

Drip,
From my sad eyes,
My dreams.

Flow,
Gone; my life.
Shattered; my dreams.