I can feel those fingers,
Long and bony.
This is just my imagination.
I'm still lonely.
I can feel the madness
Of being alone.
My voice inside
Is losing every tone.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry for the Pained
PoesíaThis is just poetry that I've randomly written, and feel like publishing them will help or inspire others. They're all pretty short. Please, no hatful remarks.
Imagination
I can feel those fingers,
Long and bony.
This is just my imagination.
I'm still lonely.
I can feel the madness
Of being alone.
My voice inside
Is losing every tone.
