Once upon a time,
In a place far away,
Was barely any rhyme;
And barely any play
People worked theirselves to death,
And where they fell, they stay
Breathing another's breath,
And the dead barely decay
They sit there forever,
Glued to the ground,
And every now and then,
They try to make a sound
The people all around,
Never tried to care;
For fear of what would happen,
If they would even dare
The dying groan in pain
While the dead can't even squeak;
And though the living can,
They never try to speak
The dead are in a coma,
They've seen everything around,
Their unblinking eyes can't move,
But they hear every sound
People talking about them,
And stabbing them in the backs
But they couldn't care less about their lacks
YOU ARE READING
Poetry
PoetryRandom crappy poetry I made which is mostly depressing. All of it's mine. Plus the cover art. I got a perspective book for Christmas (even though I specifically said I didn't want anything but whatever) so I made a mirrored hallway. I put brackets o...
