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?
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.

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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
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