Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
May 2014
My skin crackles above my shell.

Grown so old, can't you tell?

I feel like plunging straight to hell.

I'm so weak with nothing to sell.

I've grown poor, down I fell.

Until I'm encumbered by debt; and death as well.
Tristan W
Written by
Tristan W  Tennesee
(Tennesee)   
978
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems