Taste The Dirt

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Sometimes I die inside after smiling for the world one too many times.

Submitted: March 15, 2016

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Submitted: March 15, 2016

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Sometimes the world is made of hurt

And your mouth tastes like dirt

Then you realize you're already six feet under

Frozen, yet burning, for sin, for blunder

A scream, trapped in repose

I didn't mean it! I didn't mean it! I didn't mean it!

Hell is just another aria to compose

 


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