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This brain is far from empty, For my demons lodge here too. This body's getting heavy. This soul's ready for the tomb. My body is a shell. a husk of what once was, My mind makes lodge in hell,
For I have lived And loved. And laughed. As so many have not had the chance. So if i die today, I die. Better for the chance, to see the sunrise some did not.
God please write me quickly i'm running out of time, my family has no time for me and i can't say goodbye. it's not the words that stop me, nor their meaning make me cry,
Last night, my eyes were heavy;I was having trouble sleeping again,The room so dark I could not see,My skin raw, itching, and paper thin,
Blood pulsing in your veins Feral growls passing through Eyebrows knit together All aimed at you Limbs quaking with anger Hands curl into fists Shaking to slam one Into a wall A floor
i'm growing tired of writing,but not for writings sakejust the printed words
Listen O' ye weary traveler To my tale of Love and Death. This life is a cruel mistress,
What makes me tick? Where to even begin? How can I reply when I can’t rely On my own mind. Exactly what kind Of question requires a response to complex It perplexes me, thoughts so convex
God instills the toughest battles on His strongest soldiers.
(For all of the veterans we have forgotten on the home front.)
One day, my shoulders will give inDefiance will admit defeat, and they willDrop, like theBone-weary man wrapped around himself, shivering in the cold.
Deprived of the purification my body and soul aches my spirit dies a little my heart cries a bit and i remain physically intact bound to behave and portray normality for its a crime to shed emotion
Sadistic you are Weary is I The battle has been won Are you proud? Is there enjoyment in pain, pain that you have caused? Do I deserve it, no