There's a cold dark corner
in the back of my room,
it speaks to me
and says I'm coming for you.
As I lie on my bed
in the fetal position,
my eyes are closed
hoping and wishing.
Maybe that one day
my dreams will come true,
that I don't have to be here
so down and blue.
The corner keeps talking
about how I'm going to die,
all I can do
is lie there and cry.
As the corner gets closer
and takes me in,
my soul starts to burn
as so does my skin.
My bones shall lie there
turning to dust,
my bed surrounding
nothing but rust.
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 8:10 AM UTC
There's a cold dark corner
in the back of my room,
it speaks to me
and says I'm coming for you.
As I lie on my bed
in the fetal position,
my eyes are closed
hoping and wishing.
Maybe that one day
my dreams will come true,
that I don't have to be here
so down and blue.
The corner keeps talking
about how I'm going to die,
all I can do
is lie there and cry.
As the corner gets closer
and takes me in,
my soul starts to burn
as so does my skin.
My bones shall lie there
turning to dust,
my bed surrounding
nothing but rust.
This poem was written during some of the hardest times I've yet to come by.
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