The roses are dead
The voices in my head
The violets are weeping
The sound is now screeching
My mind is screaming
Perhaps, it's all inside my head
Those ghastly faces
With their cold-blooded hearts
I fear that one day
I will rip myself apart
YOU ARE READING
Mellifluous Manuscripts | ✎
PoetryHighest: #943 in Poetry » Aesthetic poetry that makes you think. A collection of sad and depressing thoughts. » I'm drowning in this misery, not strong enough to row » I'm merely ruined artwork; a failed masterpiece » Every burden needs a bearer » ...
