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Living, dead.
November 16, 2009
November 15th, Twelve A.M.,
My pillow is soaking wet.
Whimpers and scilenced screams are all you hear.
Its not just a hole, its too large to live withought.
Have you tried living with no heart?
Its IMPOSSIBLE!
Maybe it will grow again, or be given back.
No, it was stolen and thrown away. By a beautiful boy. November 15th, twelve A.M.
© Rebecca S., Coventry, RI
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This article has 1 comment.
DannyKid33 PLATINUM said...
on Jul. 7 2010 at 2:03 am
i know the feeling... im sorry :( but this was a very good poem it really got across ur pain and thoughts. keep it up
