Saturday, October 10, 2009
Little People
The one in the lift,
risen from the tome,
liked me so much he followed me home.
The one in the room,
jealous of my life,
disliked me so much, everyday she'd cry.
Enough of these dreams,
enough of these lies,
I'm living my life if I had to die.
They give me pain,
and tears and gore.
So now I won't make friends any more.
Its a vicious cycle.
Like Phin says, "depressed, write bad poems."
Then you get worse after writing and you write more...and it goes on.
Live your life and Ill live mine. Where have I hared that before?
Labels: ciao
loved on 4:14 PM
