Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jun 2013
My heart was not murdered by a bullet,

it drank itself to sleep

in the hollows of a bathroom stall

with shiny things and silent demons.

It wrestled and strangled itself

behind glass windows,

watching each automobile pass

with such yearning

to stand and be smashed.
Written by
jackonary
731
     Isla, SoulSearchingStill and ---
Please log in to view and add comments on poems