Conversation

Trust me: things are spiraling.
I am not in control.
Sing words and phrases.
Say nothing at all.
Your conversation lies.
Your devious grin shines.

If you think it's bad,
it's worse than that.
There's screaming
even in silence.
Never far from danger,
sleeping next to Hate.

Trust me not to trust.
I am not what you see.
Shout commands: I'll listen.
Spew poison: I'll drink.
Confuse what you have.
Lose what's left.

If you think it's tough,
rethink your path.
It can't be undone
once it's begun.
Mistakes you'd die to correct
will stab you with regret.

**************************************************

I hate poetry...specifically my own I need to focus on my story, but I've been lazy. I don't know what this poem is about. I guess maybe that says something about where my head is. It makes sense to me, but it makes no sense at all. It's about a million different things. The "you" of this poem refers to everyone, but also no one in particular. I've had a mixture of Good Charlotte and Gin Blossoms in my head today...which may also say something about my state of mind. Everything mixed up and everything's a mess. I can't see straight. It's all a joke and progress is bullshit. Why am I still writing this?




"And you can trust me not to think and not to sleep around. If you don't expect too much from me , you might not be let down..." Gin Blossoms Hey Jealous