PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

locked in my prim white room
silent wind speaking willing
listen to hear another breath close to yours
not much attention the yelling screeches just lingures
as long as the voice of you is still here whispering
im here
11pm here come the footsteps heavy musk
hanging on the creaked door with scratch marks
i see you
dont look under the blood risen bed
shhhhh burled my skin becomes
against burgundy walls they fall
topple over knifes and pull a trigger a choice to kill
i chose to hurt the person i use to be