I Think I Will Die Wondering
i think I will die wondering
what you all really think of me
maybe on my funeral
give a speech that's literal
my last words probably will be
"I don't think you even knew me"
I'm so afraid to tell you anything
I guess I will die wondering
/
the spring had came
what have we became?
I don't tell you anything anymore
we're right back where we've been before
looking out the window
I think it's even worse now
to contemplate my death
think of the last breath
when the sun is shining until late
it's something I grew to hate
/
so many questions in my head
and poems you will never read
why the hell do you even like me?
I ask myself that constantly
it's not that I don't trust you all
it's just that I can take the fall
once I'm gone you cannot cry
don't take the fall, just learn to fly
/
you tell me how you see me, still
it does not make sense to me
the most random of compliments
what have you even meant?
it just proves to me furthermore
how little you got to know me for
I know that it's my fault
your trust came to a halt
I wish I could tell you what I think
and when I try I just shrink
in on myself and just decide
it's gonna come out when I die
• you never knew me/things I don't tell you - zero (me)
[yes, it's a draft of a song. yes, i probably will never finish it. yes, i'm not okay. yes, that's the only reason i came back to writing]
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freebirds-poet liked this · 1 year ago
More Posts from Zeropoems
there's no gratitude in me
I am forever ungrateful
I am the rot that's spoiling this home
yet I am the only one who tries to run away
- zero (me)
there aren't any words in which I could put the purest act of your love that is sitting with me at night and listening to me complain about writing poems and songs
I hope you realise all the love in them is for you
there seems to be a universal understanding
of the fact that no good life was a good story
good lifes make good examples and I make
poetry and bonfire stories that can't go unheard
and I am glad for all the harm that was done
to me and only to me, for maybe it was better
to make my life worse and my poems relatable
noone reads poetry when they're alright, and
more so noone ever writes poetry when happy
maybe the stars aligned in this way for every poet
maybe god made us with a bigger purpose, than
any mortal happiness, made us for eternal things
written in ink and lived through in our own blood
- zero (me)
[ I finished writing my poetry book and I just know I will hate all of them in a year or two. I am never proud of my poetry. my mind is a burn book ]
around the dinner table
comes a story not so old
that they think does not
resonate anymore
about crooked floorboards
and cold water for months
and saving all your money
in order to save yourself
and when it ends they
hand you some cash since
these times are past us
but you know you're wise
and so put money in a jar
hidden from everyone
you have to save up
in order to save yourself
the times have never and
will never change
• savings jar - zero (me)
i will pack up all my life
and leave memories behind
writing a few notes to friends
to make sure I am forgotten
I know I will die one day
my mum raised to believe
if I spill my blood it will be okay
but I won't do this here
I won't rot away
in the same fucking place
who made me die in everyway
i can't Die here- zero (me)
(writer's block hit me like a truck and my life has been so chaotically stoick I hate it. also it's a song draft not a poem but we will ignore this fact)