Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Feb 2012
Perhaps the rotund shape is an illness infesting,
a sickness in you or a death to youth.
End all the life.
Never had much energy, never did much for free;
just drifted, drank tea.
Please god, whom I have forsaken,
please God I don’t believe in, please don’t take me.
This little lump could be a bump,
I don’t want an amorous tumour or a
parasite right now.
Written by
Aoife Mairéad
762
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems