Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Aug 23
The insides are rotting,
just remember,
from the insides we're nothing

it's what we do
that make us who
and what we are.

Finally
when they bury me
it will not be me
in there

I'll still be
in what you read
in the air that you breathe,
even I can't escape that.
John Edward Smallshaw
Written by
John Edward Smallshaw  68/Here and now
(68/Here and now)   
64
   Valentine and Lyla
Please log in to view and add comments on poems