SiXeS
Inside my soul, the forests are burned to the ground - The tornado of violence twist the echoes into the spiral of hate - The cracks are shallow to the depth displayed inside the mirror, the reflection of he is the him and not i - Blood by marrow is the broken bones inside my closet, upside is down and dry flies too high - Words are numbered to my inverted nine, you count on your fingers and the clock tells you the time - The portrait is painted but the sun has no shine, you are having dinner and the devil is the guest who loves your wine - My sixes were not given, i chose the pick, two circles through the straight landed me the queen of spades with the joker to jack an 8.
poem by Unic Cjonr
Added by Poetry Lover
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