Dead
i don't know if i'll be lucky, i was born,
my life has been forlorn;
i'm sick of being used as their pawn,
beaten-up with their raunchy tone;
in spite of all the good things i've attained,
with single mistake, they judged me- my life, they put an end;
all i wanted is to escape from this cell,
but they put chains on me, so i could dwell;
facing every book in daylight,
at dusk, demons are alarmed- my mind in fright;
i am breathing, but not living;
having no life, but family strife;
abused and tormented, but never been loved and appreciated.
YOU ARE READING
Don't Read
Thơ caA girl's anthology. She write to let out her thoughts, to escape and for her wounds to heal.
