Bad poetry I wrote as a teenager, Volume XXII

This week's bad poetry has a bit of twist. It's unfinished bad poetry. It's the poetry scribbled into margins on class notes, or written in the dark. The stuff that, in a fit of creative inspiration just had to come out but then, alas, the moment passed. The feeling, it could not be recreated. In my defense, I was smoking a lot of pot and listening to too much Cure. Here are some examples:

It's hard to fight a memory
A war I cannot win
I try to push it all away
But the images rush in

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If I could, I'd climb the highest mountain
Just to hear, "I love you" echo through the sky
But far away, my words would not be heard
And your ears would remain deaf to my cry

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There is a power –
Like music,
Heaving and falling
Through a shadow
Showing my weaknesses
In the storm

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I sing a bitter symphony –
The sordid whisper and
The lazy scream
Music as mad as daydreams, but
Sweet
Like wax diamonds
Lying still and
Falling frantically from
My tongue

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I've killed my Tamogatchi. Finally.

Want more? Here's Volume XXI.