The roar of the cars on the main road whilst I contemplate my own death worsening the voices in my head creating a great fracture of right and wrong for me a boy barely holding on to life itself barely able to grasp the meaning and worth of my life holding on to a distant dream, a memory of the past, a forgotten saying, or a word removed from my vocabulary. The face in the moon says I am worth so much but with it being so far away I can not believe it's words. It hopes the words reach me before my clock stops on a permanent hour, minute and second hoping my heart will be reached, healed and forgiven before my clock stops
Forever,
The Broken Boy
YOU ARE READING
Hopeful Thinking of a Broken Boy
PoetryMy poems and other short writings from my journal. I'll try to write new ones and add more as I continue writing.
