Morning gray
Fearful, leaves
Each dawn astray
Outcast, while you slowly fade away.
Posts Tagged ‘poetry’
8 items.
Someone once told me, “I was nervous because I sometimes get butterflies in my stomach just thinking about you.” I thought that was the sweetest and loveliest thing anyone has ever said to me. I even wrote a song about it. Now I don’t know what to believe. I wish there was a sign to let me know things will be alright, but instead, I get the opposite which fuel my desire to move as far away from this place as possible. I’m going to just write a simple poem today for my friends:
I shake and tremble thinking of you
Your very presence I can feel from miles around
Oh the places we will see can only be fantasy now
The life we will live is merely hope in my dreams
I don’t know how you feel anymore,
I don’t know how you sleep anymore,
You broke me, you destroyed me like the others before
It could be my imagination, or I could just be disturbed
Letters unsent sit in my mailbox.
Letters received collect dust in the corner of my mind
All I know is I miss you fiercely
So I shake and tremble, and I’ll be thinking of you.
1(ale af fa ll s) one l iness
I had a chance today, but I did not take it. Outside, it was radiant, warm. Inside, there was sickness and fear. Maybe tomorrow will be brighter. Wake up, Eddie, reach for the sun. Darkness can’t cloud your soul for long.
So when people say they’re in the same boat, what does that really mean? My boat is about to dock. If they’re in the same boat, then they should be about to dock too… or theoretically, in my boat docking with me. And another phrase I don’t get, “there are plenty of fish in the sea.” We know that fish are going extinct, so are there still plenty to choose from? I don’t think so.
The short version of this is basically, where does it end? When do I stop docking and going out to sea? What the hell do I want? Everyone goes through this, but I’m sure I’m the only one who draws stupid comics to try and editorialize my thoughts with a JPEG. Well, Penny Arcade probably does that too, but they’re comics aren’t as stupid. I mean they have a whole expo devoted to their comic. What if I held my own I Heart Eddie seminar? That would be cool.
Anyway, I don’t really have anything to give anyone anymore. It’s all been taken away by women who have sucked me dry, taken my soul, and then kinda just let me effervesce in my own self pity. I just want things I can’t have. I could write a poem about it, but then I wouldn’t draw awesome comics like these since the words would illustrate my pain. That’s lame anyway. Everyone loves a good stick figure drawing.
Love often makes me write bad poetry.
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