Damaged and damned, that's was I was chosen to be.
Burned to ashes from the past experiences that have beaten me to a pulp.
Uncaring, and dismissed. Burned with fire and acid. Treated like a pile of unfulfilled dreams and miserable reminders on how they failed.
I was burned for just being born.
The smoke in the air reminds me too much of them. I hate the smell, it burns the inside of my nose with resentment.
I refuse to be just charcoal and nothing more. I refuse to be just a forgotten home burned to the ground. Left behind by my architects because they didn't design me perfectly.
I will rebuild myself, no matter the cost.
No matter how many times I'm burned.
No matter how many times I've died and relived again. House after house, home after home.
I will not be a pile of ash.
YOU ARE READING
Sickening Poetry
PoetryJust a poem book, mostly small, short poems. Maybe a big poem here and there but This is just for fun. Nothing serious.
