Wicked Poetry

Autor Desconhecido

I used to write some poems to evade myself
Slave to my own madness, I started up some new sentences

They were built as wise as I thought I'd be
But instead, they became my sense of a cahotic reality
Confessions erased by the chains of time
Meanings that some words no longer needed to find

They were straight, cruel, those verses I used to write
Blown by the wind, on stormy states of mind
Stinging thoughts, rhymes, pure insanity

Never really felt like standing up to rules,wisdom,
Settled words like geometry
Always was so faithfull to my own poetry

It burns inside like a torch of despair
My fingers spit out the words i dont always say
Leading them as birds lead each other on their way

But I dont always find what I'm looking for in the end
It's like a strange act in which we can pretend
The truth always follows, some way or the other
Catching up with imagination, as if my feet were moving foward.

Poetry... just flows, thrown in the wings of your soul
Wings you never owned, and never will
But at least here you can pretend...
Let others believe in it
Let them fly with your tripped words
Although you know they won't go any higher
For it's your fake truth they're reading...
Your weak desire...