They Was Like
You Good With Words
You Should Put Them On Paper
So I Did
Now They Mad
They Mad
Because
My Words Came With
Pain
Not Everyone Wanted To
Feel It
My Words Came With
Truth
Not Everyone Wanted To
Know It
My Words
Told A Story
Not Everyone Wanted To
Hear It
Suddenly
They Aint Want
My Words On Paper
Suddenly
Im The Bad Guy
Suddenly
I Shouldn’t Be Expressing Myself
But
They Don’t Know
I Cant Be Quiet Now
My Words
Have To Get Out
I Cant Hide This Hurt Anymore
I Need Someone Else
To Feel What I Feel
I Need Someone Else
To Understand How It Hurt
My Words
Take Away Their Power
They
Can Be Mad
They
Can Beg For My Silence
But
My Words
Deserve To Be Out There
My Words
Deserve To Be Heard
About the Creator
JLovee
Poet. Story Teller. Not Here For A Long Time Just A Good Time..
Red Shelves
Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
By Matthew Curtis5 days ago in Humans
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.