The Romantic Death

Somehow, just the way a story strikes you,

it changes everything.

The way you think

breathe and feel.

Sometimes the change is small,

unnoticeable, deadly,

but a change nonetheless.

Such story is a Classic;

not a classic with dead authors,

old English, or confusing themes.

A classical simplicity,

not one of antiquity,

but of today. It haunts you,

you read it twice 
you read it thrice,

but it's too late: the world, or how you view it,

different, new, how unreal.

Somehow, a story becomes a part of you,

just the way it strikes. And you'll never forget

I’m little miss chick flick potato chips

Bad TV and crisps with dips.

Cider out a china cup

But when you ask

Nothings up.

 

I’m the girl out spending what she can’t afford.

Looking solemn, feeling sore.

Living in a checkered world
Of rock music and indie pop heads.

I’m staying up and sleeping in.

Filled with sugar to the brim.

Curtains calls all through the sunshine sky.

But I wont tell you

I wont say.