Collection of Poems & Blurbs (Ongoing, never-ending)

Hey, guys! I write music sometimes, but most of the time I write lyrics that don't end up turning into music. I don't know much about poetry so it's all pretty amateur. Don't expect it to seem like I was classically trained or anything.

Some of them were never actually finished, so I scrapped the melody and left it bare. I feel like the lyrics lose the mood I was trying to convey when it's shown without the melody, but oh well. Most of them are a bit cringe. I'm cringe but I'm free! I only really write for myself, so most of it was written just to get some feelings out. The feelings I had while writing may not always align with the perspective of the interpretations that come when reading them afterward.

I write a lot. Last year I checked and I was at 300 blurbs of songs and poems, most of them I now dislike. When I look at these now, I sort of imagine them illustrated by Shel Silverstein. Maybe I'll give them illustrations later. 

My current favorite is Pierrot, the last poem on the page.

Here are some of them. Enjoy.

(The One About) Maladaptive Daydreaming

I've lived a full life.

Fell in love, I had a son.

I'd felt loss

and then I'd won.

Would you believe me if I'd said

I'd lived a thousand lives?

You'd think insanity instead

but I never said I'd lied.

My mind

curves around my whim.

Legends told

of fabricated kin.

Outside the worlds:

homes, my counterparts within,

children lost and people sold.

The reality is sin.

Not a dime is spent on you.

Food and rent. To work I get. 

The reality is solitude.

I'd rather live my thousand lives,

get lost inside my mind.

Don't feel sorry, books and stories

keep my mind alive.

Ouroboros

I can't recall the days that pass.

Trees, the fall, the autumns last.

Desolate white, fearful nights, fallen heights.

Only which is (witches) to befall fearfully in my sight.

It's only to consume, only to pursue,

the newest, freshest, greatest fear itself had grew anew.

Life on the line, what shall I do?

Fallen leaves, everything,

is harder to believe when I am only here to breathe.

Only to grieve, only to bleed.

(I wrote this one when I was burnt out.)

This bar counter knows my fingerprints,

how clammy my palms get,

the greeting of a knock without a muttered word.

Cold drops meet solid wood.

It would tell you if it could.

About my glazed eyes,

or the tinge of frown

at the corners of my mouth,

the way my mind veers south.

Tired sigh, tired mind,

smile won't reach my eyes.

Don't you bother blinking,

'else you'll miss the drinking.

I think I fail to live.

Yes, I fail to love.

It's hard to find those things to want

other than the stars above.

People think that sadness

is quelled by the things you have;

I think that my happiness is

based on the things that last. 

(Like how) I live with nothing

(nothing) to do but yearn.

I can't do anything, I've learned.

Nothing to get the things I've earned.

Tired sigh, tired mind,

smile won't reach my eyes.

Don't you bother blinking,

'else you'll miss the drinking.

[I wrote this one around the same time as the last. 

This one is about the charm of pretentiousness (/negative) and its manipulative nature.]

My jaw is tense, the flavors muddle. Copper, beer, blood in the water. 

Every step toward my future

I feel is paved with a thousand nails.

You don't know the things I've weathered.

Fire, wind, or storms of hail.

But you could learn if you wanted to.

You could live with me and I could teach you what to do.

You could learn, darling you could love.

For what, with me? I fail to give

to the blind, to find, the want to live.

The one I give a passing glance, will hope that I give them the chance

to beg, to bode, to prod, to plead, for words that stop their heart that bleeds.

Words that keep their mind at bay

and give them games they yearn to play.

But they don't know the efforts sold.

Fire, wind, a storm each day.

But you could learn if you wanted to.

You could live with me and I could teach you what to do.

You could learn. You could live.

You could learn with me and I would get the chance to give

Love.

The Fields of Gold

You plant revenge

on my own rebellious eye,

and tears of blood was through

to paint my sky.

Everything grows pink and red

and I can't see what it's like

for something to be truer than

what's in my mind.

We bled into each other's wounds.

And I waited for you to play that tune.

Feeling: Seeing double. 

Wondering if you would bring the trouble.

Keep your head up or sink into beds of sand.

Fallen leaves pave what's left and dirt creates the land.

The world lives on as I wallow, weep, and whine.

The choice that I will make is one that'll change the life of mine.

My empty mind

grows foggy with hate

Blinding light fills my

body with weight.

It fills my nose,

covers my skin.

The fog and its ghost,

knows where you've been.

(Feeling:) My heart in your hands.

(Seeing double.) Lies barren.

The fever sets in. Wasteland.

Pierrot (Temptation of suicide.)

Who are you, now with the

silhouette of a pierrot,

facing walls now that were

never there before the long war?

See it?

How the flames lick the air?

Feel it,

sparks alighting your hair.

"Rain it down on me, forgiveness.

Passing wind along the leaves, feel it.

Carrying the scent of old, so much more.

Remember when to come home. I feel it all."

Empty streets. 

We walk together on the wooden boards.

Hoping that the

shallow water meets the rocky shore.

See it?

How the flames lick the air?

Feel it,

sparks alighting your hair.