Friday, 01 August 2008
By Matchbook Romance
"Out of sight out of mind; if it's been buried long enough it's easy to forget where you buried it"
Excavating this cemetary of broken dreams,
Pulling apart corpses at the seams;
Can't find my way through this maze,
Stumbling, lost, through this thickening haze.
Headstones here have been weathered away,
I can't read what any of them say;
Digging blind, cross my fingers, wish me luck -
Unearthing lost treasures my shovel struck.
Reaching into this six foot hole,
Trying to remember where I buried my soul;
Be wary of the skeletons buried six feet under ground,
Not all of them are eternally slumber bound.
Dead End Poet
A word from the Dead End Poet herself: I didn't write this for you. I didn't write this for praise. I think that's my problem lately. I've gotten used to comments, I've gotten used to praise, and now a part of me expects it. I didn't used to write for anyone but me, and it was enough. But when I started writing for criticism I lost the essence of what made writing fun for me. So I'm writing this for me, for own smucking soul, and no one elses.