When we die, our souls remain trapped in our bodies. It is a good thing to have them around, they will come and free you. But our souls are dirty, and they need to be washed first...
Thoughts locked in my mind, like a prison as I try and survive. Though mentally we are a lot alike just two lost souls, battling for peace in a world of insanity.
Will we survive, our own personal Hell?
(All poems written by me, Jacey. 100% Original)