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.