Ace Of Black Hearts
Swallowing The Petals Of A Very Bitter Long Dead Rose - Poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
A week visits then it's over.
Riding the devils motorcycle.
Black are these reflections.
A heart no longer pure.
Our souls will never again collide.
The tool served its purpose.
I can here the voices still screaming why won't you just die.
Because I can resist that temptation of hate.
I don't need you in anyway to make myself feel better.
Another letter to never read.
Only when your in trouble.
Do I receive the phone call.
This is not 911, I will not respond to those who are always having some kind of emergency.
A privilege forsaken.
Do not ever take me for granted.
For I have no wings and the sooner you realize this, the better off we will both be.
Soon I will be gone.
And then who will you call on?
Bitter is the rose of our past.
Fortunate it is that it has been long over.
Your burden is not one I shall shoulder.
Responsibility of what?
Three years in the wind.
The reality sucks sometimes.
But you better deal with it.
Because tonight you are own.
Forever all alone.
Caught in a landslide of your own contradictions.
I do not need to be high to be happy.
But you do forever and always.
Clarity only comes in disparity.
The charity is closed.
Please don't ask anymore of me.
Don't make me the bad guy.
When your the one who brings a load gun everyday.
And today there is just no escape.
Just no escape.
Shot by empty bullet.
Does it make the wound any less real?
The sensation of hitting your face off rock hard steel.
This is real.
And if you are going down.
It won't be me that gets caught in the remaining flames.
Even if I have to move to another state and change my name.
Comments about Swallowing The Petals Of A Very Bitter Long Dead Rose by Ace Of Black Hearts
Mary Elizabeth Frye
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- IfRudyard Kipling
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda
- TelevisionRoald Dahl