Now im going to do something that an english professor would call the death of writing.
Express the thoughts that revolve around the mind of a certain poet I know.
Its Saturday Night Live, and the cast is waiting for a replancement act who cant come just yet.
With comedies surrounding her life, She tries to dig into depths of sadness for a sentimental value.
Sparkling k, the diamond in so many eyes when all she needs is to shine of pearl.
The window to what shes looking for, its yelling out costume changes before curtain call.
And every now and then the window shuts and she has to question if the glass needs cleaning.
Middle of all that she knows, even the year meets its half way marker and leaves her a numerical.
So many nights are passed by glancing at the ceiling waiting for dreams to come.
All along knowing that she will have to turn over away from a smiling face above her if she wishes sleep..
frozen in a state of nurishment that wont give its all to those who want it..
but she wont cry, tears are saved for that song that splinters her heart while she smiles from it.
she doesnt bow to god, in her writings or life, and the torah didnt spark her interest when she skimmed it..
the nickname arose from the heart of a loved one as she stood next to giants, holding a candy bar with pride.
and she thinks to herself,quite often,how lips of warmth have lit up cold mouths just needing a fire
a seventeen year old shadow, thats been in her light on and off is now holding the spotlight for her...
lying on her mothers bed, a cats song always makes her brain worry about years to come.
but its the shadow that she cant cast thoughts of without watery eyes needing someone to look up to....
some would say pulling out real emotions is the best acting technique for tears,
and she'd smile and agree if she wanted a filmed breakdown....

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LowerTown's Finest