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. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s