Array ( [sid] => 183517 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Waiting For A translator [time] => 2016-09-08 00:31:32 [hometext] => [bodytext] => Every ending has a start
The short term effect of possession
is that you always want more,
in the end all you can hope for
is the love you experienced
off sets the pain you endure,
pulling at my face
is a silent scream
stretching my skin
burning a hole in my soul.

anxiety is taking its toll as I wait
for a translator
but there is no mercy
as I keep making the same mistakes,
every thing always changes
nothing stays the same
only the pain remains,
do not know what I want need
the confusion is strong
there is no flying with burnt wings.

I came into this world on my own
and that is how I will leave
when I am dead and gone,
There is a place where I wanna go
I will never get there
destination unknown,
crippled pilgrims come and go
never noticing me down on the ground
I am getting better at being a ghost. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 86 [topic] => 75 [informant] => unknown_utopia [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => anguished ) Your Poetry Dot Com - Waiting For A translator


Waiting For A translator
Date: Thursday, 8th September 2016 @ 12:31:32 AM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: unknown_utopia
Every ending has a start
The short term effect of possession
is that you always want more,
in the end all you can hope for
is the love you experienced
off sets the pain you endure,
pulling at my face
is a silent scream
stretching my skin
burning a hole in my soul.

anxiety is taking its toll as I wait
for a translator
but there is no mercy
as I keep making the same mistakes,
every thing always changes
nothing stays the same
only the pain remains,
do not know what I want need
the confusion is strong
there is no flying with burnt wings.

I came into this world on my own
and that is how I will leave
when I am dead and gone,
There is a place where I wanna go
I will never get there
destination unknown,
crippled pilgrims come and go
never noticing me down on the ground
I am getting better at being a ghost.

This poem is Copyright © unknown_utopia


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