Voice like empty can,
nothing coming out,
nothing going in,
I sit here,
with a lazy grin.
Something is going to happen,
something bad,
that will make you mad,
or just very sad.
With nothing to stop me,
for I think I'm invincible,
I make your life hell.
Later on in life,
that didn't quite go right,
I sit there,
wondering what went wrong,
in my myself.
That hell that I created,
that person is now dead,
killed themselves,
and stained the sheets,
and the walls, the windows,
and the floor, red.
I feel filthy,
like the worst scum,
my worlds turned heavy,
with despair and glum.
Was it me who did this?
Should I go and confess?
Yet, I have no knife,
no gun or gag,
no motive or plan,
no evidence to be found.
Just a memory,
thats bleached out,
a sorry story,
from a liar's mouth.
No, I'm not going to be punished,
yet I'm the murderer,
of that skinny boy,
sitting in the corner of the room,
who was looking pretty down.
**********
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Enter My Wonderland
Poetry(Every one of these poems has a story behind them, whether if their from my life, or just a story) These poem's that you may or may not read, have no theme. Some hold my thoughts, my views on life, some are purely imagination. So please read away an...
