Your Poetry Dot Com - House of Pain

Array ( [sid] => 166158 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => House of Pain [time] => 2011-05-03 23:54:30 [hometext] => [bodytext] => House of Pain

Sometimes life is better untold
If there isn’t anybody to caress and hold
Some things are better to be left unsaid
No joy or hope, I better be dead
Nothing fits the puzzle, pieces are all the same
It keeps getting better living in the house of pain

It isn’t a joke when life is a role call
Waiting in the endless queue for the ultimate fall
It isn’t funny though when you try so hard
Still there is remorse and all the love is barred
Laughing at my own self, it feels so insane
No one is going to last in this house of pain

Complaining, whining, crying and sobbing as I kneel
Serving this hard time was never a part of the deal
The hate around here are heaving my lungs to inhale
Rectifying anything feels like trying to clutch my own tail
The shackled hands and feet, all effort gone in the drain
I guess nothing can burn down this house of pain
[comments] => 2 [counter] => 137 [topic] => 75 [informant] => Harsh [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => anguished ) Your Poetry Dot Com - House of Pain

House of Pain
Date: Tuesday, 3rd May 2011 @ 11:54:30 PM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: Harsh

House of Pain

Sometimes life is better untold
If there isn’t anybody to caress and hold
Some things are better to be left unsaid
No joy or hope, I better be dead
Nothing fits the puzzle, pieces are all the same
It keeps getting better living in the house of pain

It isn’t a joke when life is a role call
Waiting in the endless queue for the ultimate fall
It isn’t funny though when you try so hard
Still there is remorse and all the love is barred
Laughing at my own self, it feels so insane
No one is going to last in this house of pain

Complaining, whining, crying and sobbing as I kneel
Serving this hard time was never a part of the deal
The hate around here are heaving my lungs to inhale
Rectifying anything feels like trying to clutch my own tail
The shackled hands and feet, all effort gone in the drain
I guess nothing can burn down this house of pain

This poem is Copyright ยฉ Harsh

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