pretentious poem
I say too much again
And again and
Again
As I mourn the idea of us
I look for the gun to pull the trigger
As I climb higher into the
Stars above
Beneath the willow was where
I lay
And once the branches began to wilt
It shall be there
I will learn to fly
And again
I will say too much as
A girl is just meant to be
Mid July
Thoughts surround the novices of my mind
It feels so fresh and new but
Old and young
I wish to God I had the sun
Within my hands
But it is with these thoughts
I revolt in pain
I wish upon the deathly gain of life
And what my life could be
For why is the gun so far
Away
From
You
Searching still I must find
Answers
And when I reach the top
Will God look down upon me
And conform my mind to
These precious nuances
Will I finally
Understand
Will I find
The trigger and pull it
On us