Left is me. Left I am. My family is gone. So are my friends.
I try to forget. That I do. But it is hard to forget when the problem is you.
My family is dead. Why couldn't they stay? "I miss them. I miss them. I miss them." I say. Aloud to the world. For it may hear me. I cry to the world and the emptiness around me.
"The world" I shall ask if I may. "Alone I am. Surrounded by dead. If this is this, why must I stay?"
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DEAD | A Collection
PoetryThis book contains many rhyming and not poems about death or the desire behind it. Should update once a month, maybe twice a month.
