A Bad Habit
A bad habit most people who are "real" have,
and falling in love is mine.
Oh, falling in love with crossed eyes,
and a fragile heart,
(never learning my lessons and mistakes)
I always lose the battles and wars, wars with mighty love,
and all those girls mock me when I am down and tired.
Sick and tired I am,
my mind races
and my head pounds with pain like a drum.
All I want to do is rest,
and walk down a pathway in a peaceful park,
only occupied by me,
and I want to dance with a black-inked pen
on a white piece of brittle paper.
Loving will come,
but I think it already arrives
when my eyes meet another beautiful girls'
then I get a quick jab in the heart with a sharp blade
called, "heartbreak"
and I cry, cry, cry,
depression sets in,
death and suicide runs through the mind.
I feel my heart turn pale and skip beats,
and jealousy runs through my veins,
when dear friends show-off their new girlfriends
and boyfriends,
and I cry, cry, cry.
Loving for me is a fowl and bad habit,
that I need to break,
before I find myself with a bullet through my brain,
or my neck broken and bruised by the professionally knotted noose.
Oh like the drink of red wine,
or the lighting of a cigarette blackening my lungs,
and filling my mind comfortably,
as I sit and recollect and think for a moment,
and shed another bucket full of tears.
.3.13.2014.
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