You make me sick.
Now I'm trapped.
Locked into a mold.
Was it you? Or was it I?
Who did this to us?
Alone, afraid.
Screaming isn't allowed.
Crying is worse.
Talking... unheard of.
Trapped.
Hopeless.
Me.
YOU ARE READING
Lambs to the Slaughter...
PoetryI like writing poetry so this is going to be a book simply of my poems. these will be mostly dark but I will try to have some happy or at least slightly bearable poems as well. dark writing is kinda thing so its ok if its not you kinda thing.
