Where is my suicide,
When is it my turn,
to pull the trigger;
And forever burn-
What really stops me,
oh I'll never cry,
but over again,
I fail to try-
So dry your eyes you coward,
as leaves fall again,
another year has soured,
and fate is your friend.
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.
