A mended heart, will always feel pain.
Another thing fixed; another to gain.
Sitting so lonely, on the dirty floor.
As his mother moves swiftly, quickly to the door.
She looks back and smiles, her teeth in a gaped grin;
To leave her child like this; must be a sin.
She slams the door loudly, and leaves him alone;
His heart only beats slowly; His expression like stone.
How hard it is to keep trying; with will only to live.
When his life is the only thing left he can give.
He doesn’t want to give in; but he slips through the cracks;
The thoughts keep persevering; another suicide thought attacks;
It’s not an easy life for him, for one who is unloved;
He can survive; no doubt of that.. If he only looks above.
YOU ARE READING
The Ghosts of my past.
PoetryLiterally, the ghosts of my past. My pain and such. Poetry from 2008-2009.
