Dedicated to amywords
Like a dog to it's master, he was loyal to pain and anger.
But he wasn't bound forever, yet he chose to.
Entertaining vengeance while nurturing hate.
And he bled, for a long time; in suffering.
But even bad things come to an end, right?
And so he wallowed in grief, drowning in his own poison.
And dammed to an eternity of wrathful guilt.
.
.
.
~A little something I did above😆.
Ha, it's nothing professional but I hope you like it~
YOU ARE READING
'Silent' Clouds.
Poetry¶Words have no meaning, unless you make them, turning them into a spontaneous overflow of rhythm¶ ¶A string of broken pieces interwoven into into poetry. Broken symphonies, turned into poetry¶
