why don't you just slap me in the face or drive a stake in my heart

it would sure hurt a whole helluva lot less







Hello darkness, my old friend,
Ive come to talk with you again,
Because a vision softly creeping,
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence.

In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone,
neath the halo of a street lamp,
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of
A neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence.

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening,
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one deared
Disturb the sound of silence.

Fools said i,you do not know
Silence like a cancer grows.
Hear my words that I might teach you,
Take my arms that I might reach you.
But my words like silent raindrops fell,
And echoed
In the wells of silence

And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon God they made.
And the sign flashed out its warning,
In the words that it was forming.
And the signs said, the words of the prophets
Are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls.
And whisperd in the sounds of silence.

Guess I got what I deserved
Kept you waiting there too long, my love
All that time without a word
Didn't know you'd think
that I'd forget
or I'd regret
The special love I had for you,
my baby blue
All the days became so long
Did you really think,
I'd do you wrong?

i don't think you are the intended

if you are just someone following me around on the internet, there is no way you could ever understand the situation unless you know my real life intimately and unless you are in my head

it was a lovely poem, nonetheless. beautiful, in fact

thank you

if you are the one, you know how to contact me

oh no..whos the target this time

Eureka!

er

er

um


You reek ah!

You beg for attention to be loved in the oddest of ways. I acquiese to the yearn of your need. You bolt and then mock and humilate for what seems an eternity. Then you sit quietly in your corner and cry. The turnstile is of your making. The love was always there for your taking.

no more. Not when you throw it back in my face like a plate of charred food.