poems that i stay awake writting

01

Numb.

I used to be a blossoming plum that Rose from the deep depths of hell.

Which is where I stay.

Hell.

A burning flame of a human being that spits out fire as she yells. Drinking rum, and claiming to be a bum.

Playing the victim of the play, when's she's the villan by day.

I lay, on my rippling lake of tears as she causes me to drown.

Nothing I say to myself can dry up the body of water I created with my eyes.

I fall back and float away, drowning out the sound of screams and starting up dreams.

imagining a world where hell, isn't so hot.