Entry # 6
C R O W N
Your not leaving town,
until you get your crown,
looking around,
it tears you down.
Spitting and breathing fire,
others bow down while you make yourself
look like a clown.
Your crown is now brown whithering into pieces on the ground.
Down, down, down it goes.
To never be found.
YOU ARE READING
Dear Diary:
PoetryPoetry is life. And sometimes all you need is a new perspective. To help you hold your head up high.
