Pop!
Pop!
Pop!
Three strikes,
I'm out.
Unwanted.
Hated by many.
Past, I loved.
I use to love
Myself.
The environment.
People.
Damages.
I pop my bands to get even
With myself.
Sometimes,
I'm extra sorry and I pop 'till
The red water drips slowly, but surely
No one knows of my bands
The bands that I'm popping.
YOU ARE READING
Poems of the Dearest Soul
PoesiePoems of the Dearest Soul. Eccentric. Makes your heart melt. These Poems and short stories are all what you need during your off time. Romance. Suicide. Adventure. Realistic Fiction. Any genre known to man (or woman) Comment what other poem you wa...
