One.
The world has turned into a black hole, sucking him away
1000 years of hate all piled onto one soul, and it's slowly tearing him to pieces
He's quiet, scared, depression has become the bed he sleeps in
He doesn't know what's left to fight through. nor will he ever want to
His mind is scarred, his body bruised, his soul torched
The demons he's faced would be enough to drive any normal person to death
But that's just it, normal, he isn't, normal is one thing he can never be
He's spent more than fifteen years running through the deepest depths of hell
For him, normal just doesn't exist.
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THE GOODS
You're currently reading the poem
One., which
was posted on Jan 17, 2010 by
EvanSterlingGraham.
This is a solo poem.
About this poem
"This is the only place on protagonize I write any poetry whatsoever. The title s..."
This poem is filed under:
Mature Themes, Teen / Young Adult
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