Black berry ink
marked clear glass
and you're drowning.
Lost within the words
that people pore down
your throat.
Or maybe
it's me that's drowning.
Lost as others unravel
my words like an yarn ball.
YOU ARE READING
Dear: Hell
PoetryThe elevator broke now death played with you all night. - Hell's Deal ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Sometimes monsters are real, sometimes Hell is fictional, but both have impacted many lives. So, take seat with some coffee and enjoy this poetry collection.
