clayton young Poems
|3.||Dead Bones And Dry Tears||5/4/2009|
|8.||What's Done Is Done||9/13/2009|
|9.||This Is Me||9/23/2009|
|11.||This Is Me 2||10/29/2009|
|12.||An Attempt Not To Regret||11/2/2009|
|13.||My Flawed Cure||12/3/2009|
|15.||Second Idea To You||11/11/2010|
|20.||My Shattered Soul||4/30/2009|
|22.||Burning Flame And Bright Light||5/4/2009|
|27.||Medication Or Discretion||7/17/2009|
|28.||Forgive And Forget Doesn'T Exist||10/28/2009|
|29.||Chains, Tears, And Dead Bodies||4/30/2009|
Pain, Hate, Love, gone.
I say I have this hate, this unbelievable,
unconceivable, and unbearable hate,
that lashes out from in me,
and explodes in fury that I have locked
deep in a vault somewhere that must
remain locked forever.
But why? Why do I feel so much hate,
or was it love? No. it can’t be love
, who could possibly…
but wait, I love her and she loves me,
does she not? And them,
they’re there too and.. I think they love me.
As I fall into the abyss of that dark
place I see hate, and I see love,
but.. I can no longer ...
The girl strides desperately and painfully
through the wide open desolate
escarpment of pain and hate she
strives to be rid of, and which seems
so much to her to feed off of her anger
and fear and to thrive off of her hate.
She shakes her head in disgust
as it beckons for her to give in