It’s the middle of the night.

Is it, really? I don’t know. I think that depends on how you define “night”. Well, whatever, I’m up late once more, cause I can’t sleep. Fucking Insomnia. Has an advantage, though. New Poem for ya. This one’s really fresh, just about an hour old, and #96. Four more to the hundred, four days left. I’m not forcing anything, but chances are high that I make it. Crazy, huh. I don’t write as much as I used to, though. I think my broken heart is getting better. That’s a good thing, right?

a stone
laying on the ground
in winter’s snow
in the woods so dark
holding out
for aeons ’til
wind and sun
tore everything apart

a bird
flying from branch to branch
singing full of joy
not knowing
that the danger’s near
that one day from now
he’ll be rotting on the ground

depressing chords
played on off-tuned instruments
a cello, a violin
an orcherstra filled
with undead sounds
speaking the devil’s tongue
playing to arise
the army of the doomed

you are the reason
for my mind to circle
’round and ’round
the same silly question
how could you do this to me?
carving marks into my inside
how could i not see
that your heart’s made of stone?

with golden hair
and perfect eyes
with shallow words
and empty lies
so deceiving
what you say
your lips tell love
your heart stays cold


About Sebastian

I am.
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