Incarcerated Chars

That was disturbing.

What was? Murdering mourners.

Who said that? A gang of coroners.

The truth is I'm constantly learning like foreigners

On just how burning are the scarred

Prisoners with shards of despair

Lodged in their bodies as sharp as scissors

Who only do care

When they're buried behind bars

As the apple mouthed pig that they are

Slowly churns turning to chars.

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed