Array ( [sid] => 102413 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Any Second Now [time] => 2005-08-01 02:08:17 [hometext] => Oh oh oh, the story of you, I, and that knife lodged in my side. [bodytext] => "Nothing Special"
He screamed it in her ear,
The Wisper Heard Around the World
"You're nothing special, and I wish you'd just go away."
Maybe it was never really said at all,
but her eyes read his like a large printed book...
blinking red lights.
She pretended not to notice,
and wondered if her own eyes flashed stories of the hammer to her heart.
"I'm sorry", maybe?
Maybe they told of remorse.
Remorse of a ruined relationship, that was never really whole.
Did her eyes give away her own secrets?
Did her own eyes decieve her,
like his decieved him?
Did they tell the world that she would sleep tonight,
mearly to dream his firey face?
She hoped they didn't,
but knew he knew her somewhat better than she knew herself.
He could read her more-so like a billboard,
than a book.
She was an easy subject,
and lacked a poker face.
Her face was probably flushed with crimson,
and her eyes that deeper blue they got before she spilled over.
He could probably tell she was to burst,
any second now. [comments] => 4 [counter] => 197 [topic] => 22 [informant] => ElevenToedSloth [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 16 [ratings] => 4 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => LostLove ) Your Poetry Dot Com - Any Second Now


Any Second Now
Date: Monday, 1st August 2005 @ 02:08:17 AM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: ElevenToedSloth
"Nothing Special"
He screamed it in her ear,
The Wisper Heard Around the World
"You're nothing special, and I wish you'd just go away."
Maybe it was never really said at all,
but her eyes read his like a large printed book...
blinking red lights.
She pretended not to notice,
and wondered if her own eyes flashed stories of the hammer to her heart.
"I'm sorry", maybe?
Maybe they told of remorse.
Remorse of a ruined relationship, that was never really whole.
Did her eyes give away her own secrets?
Did her own eyes decieve her,
like his decieved him?
Did they tell the world that she would sleep tonight,
mearly to dream his firey face?
She hoped they didn't,
but knew he knew her somewhat better than she knew herself.
He could read her more-so like a billboard,
than a book.
She was an easy subject,
and lacked a poker face.
Her face was probably flushed with crimson,
and her eyes that deeper blue they got before she spilled over.
He could probably tell she was to burst,
any second now.

This poem is Copyright © ElevenToedSloth


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