Jump to content

Recommended Posts

I once knew a sweet little girl named Bess,

Filled with emotions she could not express.

The words she wrote were just broken and vague,

Beautiful thoughts became innermost plague.

Those lovely visions that danced through her head

Like secret languages that couldn't be read.

Try as she might, the words would not come out;

She bound herself tight with chains of self-doubt.

No one knew what she held on the inside,

But how could they, when the words only lied?

Inside, like spiritual homicide

It ripped out the spark, the light in her eyes.

She languished always, sunk in depression,

Writhing in the throes of inexpression.

No outlet, she made one with a bullet;

No more of this world, it just wasn't worth it.

In earthy solace of six feet under

She could tear her mental walls asunder.

This world held for her all pain and no gain,

The poet's pen was not hers to attain.

Unfairly dealt, cards of creative joy.

Dealt a mute muse, her's to use or destroy.

Soul was full, but she could never trace it.

Open mind, but mouth stitched shut, well now it's wasted.

Link to post
Share on other sites

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now
  • Create New...