Living, dead.

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.





Join the Discussion

This article has 1 comment. Post your own now!

socrchik33 said...
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
 
bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback