Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dec 2015
Under his bed collecting dust.
An old toy, no one to trust.
Take this chord, around my neck. Pray to God that they forget.
Start to slip, then feel a hand.
Pull me from this dusty den.  
Untie the rope and looks at me.
Runs away, what did he see?
A tale from years past, darker times. They're coming back
Antonio
Written by
Antonio
  498
   Melanie Cordova
Please log in to view and add comments on poems