"weithered" poems
The key was thrown away a long time ago
So the odds of him showing are never to no
No sign of light
Unable to break these bars even when using all his might
Soon his fingers will have weithered away to nothing
Clawing at the walls like it's going to do something
He knows it won't
Bleeding from the throat, screaming or atleast trying to....he's lost his voice
But does one really make noise with no one around?
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 6:58 PM UTC