I may not have a soul at all, or at least one I have not stole.
Much like a tree left in the dark I leached away the sun's last spark.
If I may be so bold, may I ask you if I'm real? is this how all creatures must feel?
Surely not, if not transformed from hate, from nothingness to gruesome fate.
My screams no bird of fire can equate.
In dreams of my birth, I do remember and all I wish is to reverse this vile dismember.
I may be a liar, but my existence is proof that God has failed to tell you the truth.
YOU ARE READING
Stay Beautiful
PoesiaAre you tired of the sad emo girl poems? well look no further! I am not quite Sylvia Plath. I try (pretentiously pretend) to be. I studied english literature and language at A level ( still can't even spell correctly). I love Keats Im just being e...
