"collored" poems
In death we all possess a multitude of similarities.
Our skin turns pallid,
Our eyes turn white, slowly losing their collored eyeballs
Later they end up sunking in.
It's true that when somebody dies
His hair continues to grow, and can maintain its color for a great amount of time.
But truth be told,
Death is the great equalizer;
Whereas in life we're all different,
In the ways we walk, cry or smile,
In a crowd of dead people we're almost completely indistinguishable.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 5:02 PM UTC
everynight,
a new wolf,
ready to tear my soul apart,
ready to stab a dagger,
deep into my heart,
they say women like us,
belongs to hell,
pity on them,
how virtuous are they,
to spend nights,
with hellworms like us,
they say,
we are disreputable,
how respectful they are,
to be with us for nights,
how can they be white collored,
after darkening our lives,
i always wonder how
we weren't born this way,
they made us .......
Jan 27, 2019
Jan 27, 2019 at 9:33 AM UTC