My Garden, My Soul
What is it in my soul that you want?
Why do you continue to take from my garden?
Is it comforting you? making you happy?
Im dying infront of you but you’re too busy picking from my garden, and drinking from my soul to notice
My once yellow life is slowly turning black & you won’t let me go back
You are a trap I keep bringing upon myself.. but how can I let you go? you are Life itself
I tried to let you go before to 3 failed attempts.. You nomore make sense.. You nomore make sense..
This poem is about:
Me