I feel much like a vibrant butterfly handled so roughly by selfish ,careless palms

Until my wings have become paper thin and won’t survive these cruel winds

I am a writer without a smile nor a hope left in a universe that will eventually kill me

My pen my only weapon in this prison that has become my young existence

I fight is almost failing and I’ve lost my trust in those whom claim to love me

I’m dying inside kept alive barely by mere poetic expression

My family is testing

Taking more than I have left to give


About Into Oblivion

It's a midnight Kiss from Hell A sweet spell that Poetry sells to my shadowy mind I just like writing random poetry and shit
This entry was posted in Cold, Deceit, Family, Hell, Hurt, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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