school. wasn't. much. different
hosts of hopeless
h e a t h e n s
sung symphony's of sin.
torturous melodies
dancing in my ears
& beating their drums.
they
cut
me
open.
fresh wounds daily.
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men don't cry [Poetry]
Poetry[H.R. #6 - 7. 3. 18] "we wear our emotions like intricately decorated chains strung around our throats and then tuck them into our shirts" *** i sincerely hope you don't relate to any of these poems ~UPDATED DAILY~ 27/12/17 : #611 in Poetry 29/12/1...
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