Wind as sharp as knives
Cutting through the soul
Giving up on lives
All from its cold
Screaming comes from victims
Letting up on being saved
But no matter the rhythm
Only worries of over population have been caved
And as everyone lets up to the world
No one knew quite a thing
About anything other then being curled
Up as their ears ring
And blood is spilled in front of them
Staining white to red
But even every tiny gem
Of a person can only save the not dead
And since not many are out there
The dead are left weak
Not really with a care
As they start to bleed
Bleeding through life's worries
Cutting through the pain
And shocking out of misery
as they are left to gain
From leaving the living
And dying
YOU ARE READING
Never Better
RandomPoems. Just poems. Like I said, just poems. *** This book of poems will hopefully light your heart with joy and make you happy, or make you tear up from... onions. Let's call our desperately sad poems onions. At least then, you have a reason to cry...
