Would anyone believe my contorted shell,
your ghost in my hallways,
though short they'll dwell-
You are a person,
I wish I could show I care,
if you're not dead, then you're alone,
and i know you feel scared-
I believe in you,
misguided soul,
as empathy grows,
it'll take its toll-
It's a raw feeling,
that hangs heavy in the air,
a final cry to be understood,
I'll live your jaded prayer-
You are far,
though next to me,
A rage so strong
a face I see-
It's sympathy for the devil,
they all will laugh and say,
a sickness drippy slowly-
does win my dismay.
YOU ARE READING
My Sweet Grave Digger
PoetryI use to have an anger so big, it could fill up any house. Poems from the garage attic.
