1200
So now I rebuild, how in the H.E.L.L am I supposed to chill?
New day, New Dawn. Funny enough before this, I didn't do Poems. I respect the writer, I love the art form.
It's just my poetry usually has rhythm behind it. Dope beats allowed me to hear, when my ears were in silence. My steps were in such rhythmic guidance. Now all I have are weak breathes and these quiet writings.
Now that she left, I can't hear the music any more. I'm so unsure. I even question my uncertainty. I mean we could've easily lasted past eternity. God perform surgery and remove my urge for she.
HER, use to be my favorite word. Her smile, her curves...Erase that, her light, her worth...I now face facts, she needed more than what I aimed at.
Did I even aim? Caught up in my day to day, I didn't notice us fade away.
Shame well yes, not so much for what I did but what I didn't do. Here's the visual. Same ol same, routine after routine, mundane sleep so I didn't chase dreams. Woke up to vague screams. Large tears, Big let downs. Small respect chipped at everyday, leading to where I sit now.
So Poetry is my rehabilitation. No beat just words. Each one more unique because now they're relearned...without HER.
