When I was young,
I had many flowers
in my garden.
Colorful, vibrant flowers.
As I grew older,
some flowers were taken.
Plucked from their roots,
and never replaced.
My garden is small now.
Few flowers flourish.
Most of the few left,
are starting to whither.
My garden is sad.
It no longer pops with life.
It's sad, and sick, and dying.
Soon,
all the flowers will be gone.
Soon,
my garden will be empty.
No longer living.
Dead inside
YOU ARE READING
Poetry for Dark Souls
PoetryThis collection of poems has been gathered over the years. All of these are dark and lined with depression. I hope that one day, there will be no need to write such things, but for right now it's my outlet.
