Poetry

The telephone rang
But she hid beneath her sheets like a child
And like a child she dreams, she hopes
And sings along to old songs
She finds her way out of her window as if she could fly
Nobody is home she says
Please go away

Friends come to her door and leave flowers, this is her grave
Her silence her walls her pretends
But it doesn’t matter when loneliness shuts her eyes
She could never sing to the world
She lived in darkness
Beautiful, so ugly with her sharp edgy mouth
She was nothing more than bones and skin
Her soul her soul
Does she even have a soul

And lovely eyes like corridors
He ran through them for days
But found nothing inside
Just oceans to sink in
And moment to forget
Nothing is good enough for her he says
And he goes like a child
He climbs on a tree
And thinks of how beautiful she was
When she smiled in the dark between sheets
And all he can do is dry his skin and take the train
Love is just a moment not a life

Days will come days will go
She always hides
Friends leave flowers on her porch, this is her grave
The silence that screams I believe not in myself
And I’m sorry

It's late, it's really really late but for a reason unknown to me I can't fall asleep so here I am making my new wonderful shiny blog... lovely I know. Well I should end it here, run to my bed and hope that my eyes will close and beautiful dreams will come. Hope hope hope!

" In science one tries to tell people, in such a way as to be understood by everyone,
something that no one ever knew before. But in poetry it's the exact opposite."