To be propelled to the dirt, is the customary here,
To become apathetic, as the dirt purloins your soul,
To be loathed, by all people,
To be in vain, futile, and disconsolate,
To be unchaperoned through the dread of the everyday,
To be piqued, and to amalgamate with the other dishonorable individuals,
To be, or to not to be, that is your decision,
To be lost by your beloved, and despised by your second self,
To be the one to capulet, and to cave into yourself,
That's what happens, when you've caved in on your own pitiful, solitary, agony...
YOU ARE READING
My poems, And Random Stuff
RandomI am a soldier. I am the one that is always on the battlefield. With scratch marks, and bruises. I try to carry on, I try to see the light. I reach for my guns, to try and abolish the enemy. The ones that want me dead. But I can't anymore. I've bee...
