the rain against my window
crashes
the fist against my face
smashes
the damage against my mind
howls
the glances in the corridor
scowls
the warm welcome home
slaps
the "go to your room"
traps
the thoughts roll around inside my
head
the idea is very inviting
dead
a/n: 90th part awyes
-brklyn
YOU ARE READING
A Little Thing Called Death
Poesíai won't explain many of these. they are for you to work out and they'll probably mean something different to everyone. (i own these poems) ((FINISHED.))
