Sometimes I feel like a mop
I soak up all the dirt and toxicity you make
But when I believe this is all there is I can take
just when I'm getting over it,when I'm clean
You take me back to the filth where I've been
you dirten me all over again
I wear out or get a lasting stain
that doesn't matter to you, that's my use.
Every time you do, my stitches get loose.
something in me changes
A part of me dies a little
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The Voice of My Silence
PoetryThe words that he spat germinated and grew into the tree that overshadowed him What goes around.. From the author: vote and comment if you like what you see
