Just look at what life's become; like a gun, eight rounds in the ground and still can't be found. I spend my time coming up with rhymes in my mind, me pen never dies, all these words are my own,and possibly all i have ever known. Coffee and cigarettes are devilishly good regrets that's essential to a poet. The pen takes me away from the stress of the day, to a place i can only go and none will never ever know the sky isn't actually blue,this is true, it is black without an end, in space where time began.
I will blindly swallow a brilliance unknown, to those who casually ignore I will provide a dark but wonderful truth. ignitions hitting and missing, when does the sun shine, why are we so blind. I am the type, the quiet kind. unveil the cause and effect, who will they choose next to infect, with their minds implanting lies, when sympathy cries, a truth with test and desires, there's something we all admire, in the midst we set a fire inside the heart, rip and tear it apart, set ablaze, a conscious mind what a beautiful maze.
- Samantha Johnson
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