My poems hide
Somewhere deep
In my brain.
The darkest part
That never
See's anything.
The part that
Screams and yells
And makes me
Cry.
It's also the part
That makes me
Want to
Die.
My poems hide
In the grass.
They explain the
Scene and all
The broken
Dreams.
They run like
Children on a
Sunny day and
Drop like rain
On a spring
Day. They fall
Down like the
Leaves, and whirl
Around the trees.
My poems hide near
Death. They are
Like a broken
Heart, but weren't
Even there from
The start.
They are like roses -
Deadly and hurtful
To the touch -
Although they
Don't say much.
They are deep and
Dark like the soul.
My poems have
Found their home.
