‎Friday, ‎June ‎13, ‎2014

Like the plastic bags gets wasted
I am on waste as to be used and trashed
As tales replicates from delicate lips to lips
My breath has caught again
On some worn grave of my classified mess
Tall as I have always stood, claimed as emotional tool..
Flaming the wound from former wood, what a fool
Everyone is here; every one as some who swear to save me through
But as they laugh as I slip in my own steps
They march over me and protest on my lack, you

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s