Punk Nona


Once again
being swallowed by the mess
I've created around me.
Too many nights of broken sleep.
Too many days of being thinly spread.
Too many dreams given up
at the chance of a pitiful survival. All there is
is a heavy stench lingering in the air. The smell of a
failure to comply with the standard
but never really working hard enough
having ambition to do much else.
But dream. Dream of a better life, and better place
a meaningful existence in this crazy world.
Understanding that the suffering exists to endurance
and learn.

And above all else,
not letting anything touch you
more than you need it too.

Listen to this poem:
Poem Submitted: Thursday, April 5, 2007
Poem Edited: Thursday, February 10, 2011

Rating Card

5,0 out of 5
1 total ratings
rate this poem

Comments about 4:12 by Punk Nona

There is no comment submitted by members..

Rating Card

5,0 out of 5
1 total ratings
rate this poem

Edgar Allan Poe

Annabel Lee

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?