The sky was blue,
My blood was red,
Everyone thought I was a fake,
So now I am dead.
Her wrist was red,
His pulse was blue,
No one had helped them,
So they jumped too.
Their flowers were yellow,
The tears were a massive spillage.
Now nobody dwells,
In The Village.
YOU ARE READING
Rant Poems
PoetryAll my Rant poems, which is basically me venting or ranting about something relatable in a short poem. #4 Poetryslam
