Shitload poems of sweet nothings

I have often wondered why we get the worse especially when we see ourselves as good people.

We miss for count when the hope flashes like a glimpse of fails every time.
I know I am not supposed to wail, I know I am just supposed to nod when you my love whisper sweet words.

Are your words not supposed to be soothing to me? Am I not supposed to be like the human your words are designed to make me feel?

I feel terrible and pained, yet I find no strength in me to complain. I love that you tell me shitload of sweet nothings.

Last night, the preacher said you were not right for me.
Mama was sad because she has seem the future of you and I that will never be.
I know I am sold to something, but the thought that it is a lie makes me want to keep going.

Shipload of sweet nothings just helps me keep going.

Did you see Aaron last night? He was dead even before he slid that ring? Today, his case is uncertain and we all know he was dead long before he woke.

My living space lacks motivation and there seems to be no live left to lead.
Humans we are, weaklings we embody.
Hope restrained, uncultured speech we mostly spew.

I hate the joy and the pain and yet I find myself seeking them out.
Now I cry and sob because I miss your shitload poems of sweet nothings.