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2003-09-16 15:04:44 ET Since when do I do nothing but write stupid love songs? What makes me waste the ink and stay up all night long? Emotions pour on the page and my words they tend to ramble and the chance that it'll be any good is a big risk to gamble Who's going to read them, anyway? Do I keep them so when I die they'll find my books and afterwards say, "There's one lonely guy?" Why does love even matter? Why cry myself to sleep? It is even worth the effort when my poems just repeat? So I'm finished with sappy love songs From now on it's lust and angst and rage and this poem is ending now 'cause it's the bottom of the page. |
