Sadness seeps through my veins
Dark as a moonless night it creeps
My battered heart pumps it along
Deeper as it takes over my body
Heavy with this my drug called hate
It is intoxicating as it takes me
Prisoner of my feelings
I have nothing left to give
Broken and left for dead
I lay here in my own hell

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Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.

Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

angellv’s Poems (10)

Title Comments
Title Comments
Mixed 0
The light 4
Sadness 0
Let Go 3
Fate 1
Silence 2
My Dear Friend 1
The Struggle 2
The Road 3
feelings 2