The sun scorches the land,
And the rows upon rows of plants,
Shout for help, screaming,
As they slowly roast.
People walk over the grass,
And the trees look on in horror,
As they hear the cracking of spines,
The Lawnmower bellows.
The flowers are in full bloom,
They stand, boasting their guises,
However, their beauty has sealed their fate
As they are picked by the hands of little girls.
One by one they are taken, screeching as their body is torn,
And slowly do they wither,
In the gaze of necrophiliacs.
YOU ARE READING
Stories between the lines: A collection of Poems
PoetryThe world is what you perceive it to be. These are short poems and haikus which I have been inspired to write by what has happened to me and those around me, giving you an insight to how I perceive the world around me. I do cover some self-harm and...
