It Had To Be Room Thirteen.
Twisting and fading,
The Spring marks the day I died.
There stand an unhappiness burning
I know. I know. I know you.
Fade to black
Why can't I die?
This is my obsession
The only reason you keep running through my head is because my sadistic laughter blocks my ears.
This silence shall become the stitches in my mouth
The reflection tears at my skin.
This runs no deeper.
You're a hypocrite.
Nobody ever apologises to me.
The End
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THE GOODS
You're currently reading the poem
It Had To Be Room Thirteen., which
was posted on Nov 27, 2010 by
Misfit.
This is a solo poem.
Some rights reserved.
This poem is filed under:
Abstract, Free Verse
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