dead (short poem)
her broken eyes shining brighter than the moon
wind as fierce as a gods wraith, taking with it her hope
tears falling down, if only she could cope
long ago though it was stolen, her faith
her heart, thousand pieces, strewn across the rotten soil
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halespage
I'm 20, but many tell me I have an old soul. I go through a lot of crap all the time about what I do and who I am so my stories and poems are the only places I can be free even if they mention my troubles it is a way to breathe, though the inspiration seems to fade every time
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