Young Writers Society

Poem 15; Sometimes:

Sometimes I’d like someone to like this.
Sometimes I’d like someone to care.
Sometimes I’d like someone to give a shit.
Sometimes, regardless, it’s just not there.

Sometimes I resort to foul language.
Sometimes I wish I would more.
Sometimes I wish I were perfect like a kid;
Perfect as I imagine that I was before.

Sometimes the pain is too real;
Sometimes I need it to leave.
Sometimes it stays just to toy with my heart.
Sometimes I’d rather not weep.

Sometimes I’d rather say Once In A While.
Sometimes I’d rather just not.
Sometimes I wish I didn’t need to write.
Sometimes, I know that I can’t.

Poem 16; i'd like to think:

i’m screaming
to the ashes
of my long-forgotten sin.
a road of scraping gravel
covered up
by molten tar.
a body
lost
in the cave of cement.
some things are antique,
unique, preserved.
some things deemed important,
enough to be conserved.
some things are never amidst
the unraveling strings
of life which knot
and twist around the truths
and lies and never know
when the leave.
some things are dire.
some things are dull.
i like to think my course-
altering lies are things
that changed the world.
but the ashes are gone.

Poem 17; I'm Not:

You do this because you care about me.
You do this because you care.
But you don’t, you see, because
you don’t know, exactly
who it is
you might love.
You pretend like you know me,
pretend like I live;
you pretend I’m unzombieified,
but dear, sweet dear,
how mistaken you are.
My heart stops.
I’m cold to touch.
I breath from habit, but I don’t
need to.
I inhale food,
so you assume I am eating;
receiving nutrition,
nourishment, but I’m
not, you see, I’m
not. My stomach and systems don’t work.
Haven’t since I was transformed.
Like you knew I was, but
you thought I was brought
back to this place you
want me at.
Except, I’m at a stalemate -
I can’t change, even if I
wanted to, which I don’t since you’re
miserable, and yes, I am too, but
at least I have hope - at least I can leave
and not worry about anything, anything at all.
I’m not, you see, I’m not -
I’m not anything at all.

Poem 18; Zombie

Wake from your slumber
Rise from the cold, ashen ground
Feast on Earth's malice