Prematurely withered,
created full of dread,
she slowly became ill in her head-
the little girl whose brain had bled,
from a mother who punished her
as she hung from a single thread,
keeping her on a shelf up high in a shed,
and she never escaped until that little girl was dead.
DU LIEST GERADE
My Sweet Grave Digger
PoesieI use to have an anger so big, it could fill up any house. Poems from the garage attic.