3.6.12

Poetry: When the tides


I really should have posted this yesterday since it was much more relevant to what was making me feel so blah. I suppose I must have repressed it. Anyway, enjoy your extra dose of rough angsty hate poetry! Relive your teenage years in style. 


When the tides they arise
In the mist of your eyes
With the freckles that glint like the sea
Well what shall we do then
For just now and again
I’d defy my own head, though it knows that you’re dead
And live only in dreams, whatsoever I see.
But the worst of it all
Is no tomb, shroud or pall,
For you walk in the sun, fading only to me.  


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