love
someone tell me
am i suppose to feel like this is
is my heart suppose to beat this fast when ever i see you walk my way
is my head suppose to throb when ever i hear your voice
is my body suppose to shake when ever u look at me
am i suppose to see darkness when ever your not around
am i suppose to hate when you leave me
am i suppose to want to die when ever im mad at you
am i suppose to be suicidale when we break up
am i suppose to hate you for cheating on me
am i suppose to hate me for cheating on you
am i suppose to sleep with you even though i have a boyfriend
am i suppose to stop my whole lif for one moment with you
am i suppose to give up everything i worked for so you could
have fun
we need to be the death of it and we need it nowso with this
poem i end all life that we had together all ties that kept us
together have dicinigrated into nothing more then memories of how it use to be and even then, after a while they get dull and
colourless and they no longer mean what they stod for
They are the understatement of the year when it comes to
death of it
am i suppose to feel like this is
is my heart suppose to beat this fast when ever i see you walk my way
is my head suppose to throb when ever i hear your voice
is my body suppose to shake when ever u look at me
am i suppose to see darkness when ever your not around
am i suppose to hate when you leave me
am i suppose to want to die when ever im mad at you
am i suppose to be suicidale when we break up
am i suppose to hate you for cheating on me
am i suppose to hate me for cheating on you
am i suppose to sleep with you even though i have a boyfriend
am i suppose to stop my whole lif for one moment with you
am i suppose to give up everything i worked for so you could
have fun
we need to be the death of it and we need it nowso with this
poem i end all life that we had together all ties that kept us
together have dicinigrated into nothing more then memories of how it use to be and even then, after a while they get dull and
colourless and they no longer mean what they stod for
They are the understatement of the year when it comes to
death of it
Did you like this poem? Write one of your own!


