Say hi to the vulture,
Cruelty is a small definition,
She can't even speak,
But when she does,
This evil hand slips deep down her throat,
Her words dragged down by the hand.
She can't breathe,
she can't see,
This curtain of tear,
And everything was blurred.
Cruel words drag her words down.
Her voice comes out as a hick.
Voi, voi, voices, she's not understood,
Yes this is her, crying.
This is her, when she cries.
YOU ARE READING
I Wrote It All For Me
PoetryPoems. For myself, of my moods, my life, just me and my feelings. Most of them are fictious (or are they?). I'll leave it to you readers, let your imagination wander.
