Past
This
room is cold
There
is no life
No
dreams of comfort
No
air to breath
It’s
dark and I am weary
The
sound of the wood creaks and rocks
Scratching
along the walls
Death
knocks against the door
My
body paralyzed itself
Nowhere
to run
Nowhere
to hide
No
more days
To
laugh and play
Time
to leave this world of gray
Picture:http://www.deviantart.com/art/Memories-of-the-past-71433384
No comments:
Post a Comment