he'd like to know all about me,
so he starts picking me apart.
he scours files inside my head
for blueprints, maps and charts.
instead he finds, dead letters,
my report cards, unfinished art,
rock songs, failed accounting tests
gooey chocolate & pop tarts.
while making a grand mess up there,
losing pieces, misplacing parts,
he doesnt hear the constant sound
of my ticking tocking heart.
I've added this one to my favourite poems Regards Michael Witkowski
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
WOW! your stuff is really good... i love this one.. its in my favourite list :)