I've been writing since I was 16, I use poetry as a means of expressing my opinions and feelings.
We are the children. The last generation. You’d be surprised what we’ll do, just to cause a sensation. Burning with rage,
By Debra Herrington4 years ago in Poets
Caffeine dreams of nicotine screams spilling into your ears. Eyes on the road, while you talked in code over the radio.
Treat me like you love me, just pretend you really care. Let me believe I’m happy. Just as long as I dare. Touch my hand softly,
I don’t need a mansion, nor a castle made of stone. It’s not about the building That makes someplace a home
Sounds of fevered grace, that echoed in the night. Waves of gentle pain, that kept reality in sight. It used to feel so sweet,
By Debra Herrington5 years ago in Poets
I trembled ‘neath your icy glare. Blown away, not expecting you didn’t care. Now I pay, for laying all my feelings bare.
Darkness sits within me, blocking the answers I need. Changing me inside forever, killing my chance to succeed. My heart, shattered like glass,
Jagged shadows on the edge of time. Waiting for something or someone to climb. So weave me a dream, streams of fire and ice.
Small town freedom, Just a nod and a wave. Prettiest smile That little girl ever gave. Offer up some sweet tea And we'll sit a spell,
Stagnant, with dreams that no one understands. Dirty, always washing greasy hands. Waiting for any moment to change, trying desperately to rearrange
I’m uncharted territory. Displayed appropriately. Spread open, for the world to see. Descending willingly, past glimpses, fleetingly.
I trace paths of passion, twist them ‘round your heart. Tearing feelings from your soul before they even start. Smashing dreams of love,
