You've broken me from your words once more..
Accused and assumed,
Angry and consumed.
You left me crying in my bed,
Shaking and tremoring as I held my head. Not caring to listen, or try to understand. So now you've helped make my bed.
A bed of needles, razors and lead. If I sleep and do indeed wake, I pray the Lord still my soul to take. I'm running short of words to care, if you keep pushing, I'll never be there.
YOU ARE READING
My journal...
PoetryThis is me, giving you, a personal view into the things that I write in my journal..
