It doesn't matter how often I lose my voice,
How often I pray for someone to hold me close...
In they end,
They all back away.
They all prefer to watch be burn.
The#ll watch how I fall-
My demise-
Will come.
When blood is stained on my hands,
Life leakes from my mouth,
And my body shuts down,
No one will be there
YOU ARE READING
Telling's from the heart
PoésieSo here are a collection of poems inspired by stories whispered or stories told. Here are to those going through tough times and to get better. Here are to those that are at their peak and to keep up their good work. ***PLEASE IGNORE THE LETTERS THA...
