Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2014
They say
Only the fittest survive, sardonically.
The whole enchilada’s pressing on my throbbing
Head. Like a drained sponge, dehydrated
I can only hear jeers, see mocks, talk
Nothing with my quivering lips, to the
World that says I am drowning to doom in the
Tough Ocean of the world. But they know not
That I can swim
Written by
Keertana
633
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems