Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Time has passed.
Have I become what I never wanted to be?
Is the me in me fading?
I can’t speak poetry
I can’t dream like I did
Is this growing up?
I hate it.
Why so straight, so sharp, so crisp
So unreal, unnatural
So much hate.
Waiting for the other to strike
Ammunition already ready
I’m so prepared
It’s sad.