Stacks
50 stacks of
20 ones sits on my back.
Holy smoke
I can’t breathe.
desperate.
bleeding.
we’re all leaving.
Little stones they press down
but I will tell my story.
Stop the world in it's tracks.
Have you ever felt your ears bleed?
All the textbooks in the fire.
The winner yells his story.
the loser goes home.
Home.
Home is a place that you left at 16.
It’s where your heart is.
That much I believe.
In the end though...
Do we have to side with the victor?
from the fall of Greece, to the rise of Rome.
Roam.
Roaming this world with an atlas
she’s a bruise.
he’s a black eye.
50 stacks of paper on the police desk
20 filled with lies.
Look around
use a sole.
Are you diamonds or Coal?
All you charcoaled people please raise a hand.
Let them hear you.
Tell them why.
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MaddisonDayton
I sit and write poetry during Spanish class. It's kinda evolved into a way of life. Long live the poets of this generation.
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