hazy morning

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    hazy morning

    i could say the sky was blue
    he'd call me a liar and she'd believe him too
    not cause of his color blindness
    because of his eagerness
    to to to
    bury me alive

    if i was on fire
    he said i was seeking attention
    if i wanted to be alone
    i was anti-social
    so so so
    you see nothing was right in my head
    i was a mass murderer awake in my bed
    if i was just dead
    he'd call me lazy

    maybe i'm still lost in the fog
    maybe i'll never learn
    how how how
    he made her believe it was his turn
    after he stitched my mouth shut
    he called me crazy
    and just because he said
    she'd believe him too

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    Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion.

    T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

    tidekeeper’s Poems (8)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    you or a butterfly wind 1
    nectar 0
    ghosts 0
    hum 1
    hazy morning 0
    devour 1
    static 0
    broken 0