He walked through the street.
He walked through the street paved of dead bodies.
Mr. Sober buzzed man never knew it would get bad.
He didn't do drugs but he had other plans.
To drink would become a thing.
He walked lands and stared as he sings.
Just so he would hear the bells ring.
The "Sober" buzzed man wasn't fine.
His ego was smaller then a dime.
He never meant for the crime.
The "sober" buzzed man was just sick of crying.
YOU ARE READING
|°Simply Structure°|
PoetryPoetry has always completely held me together. It's kind like how you breathe oxygen. It's something I have to do. Poetry is something like oxygen to me. Without it I wouldn't survive. ~ remember love is a crime and I'll do the time for loving what'...
