Is there really something left to live for...?
The whispering of the wind grows stronger
As it calls for a reprise.
What is left of us then?
If we submerge ourselves
Into the cool waters of death then the
Behest of life will be lost to us forever.
The beauty of life, although marred with
Ire and jealousy, it's always omniscient.
It stares at the wasted remains of our corrupted souls,
Begging us to be revived as it smirks to
Itself of our daily.
YOU ARE READING
Collection of the Dark, Dark Depths
PoésieFeelings hurt, others insult and we cry, as we lie in our cold embrace together, but they don't know what I think, but now you will. WARNING: Some poems may be triggering PLEASE DON'T STEAL THESE FROM ME.
