As each day passes,
She feels her soul eroding.
The rusted coldness.
YOU ARE READING
her gloom
Poetry"I am you, one day out of five, Tired, empty, hating what I carry But afraid to lay it down, stingy, Angry, doing violence to others By the sheer freight of my gloom, Halfway home, wanting to stop, to quit But keeping going mostly out of spite...
Decay
As each day passes,
She feels her soul eroding.
The rusted coldness.
