

desolate placeI stand here, Looking at The floor, At my hands,desolate place
The floor orange and dusty, My hands red and sore, My arms drenched in blood
The Rich nector of life, Dripping from my vains, Asif it where from a tap
So red, So dead
Both me and the land, Just there, dead and dying
The dust from the floor, Blowing up and into my throght, Sitting on my chest, Drying out my lungs, Coreoding my insides
I look around, There's nothing to live for, No one to care for,
There is death and h


BoxesI found a box, In the box was love, I climbed in to get it.Boxes
It was so great, It was everything i wanted, It spoke sweet nothings in my ear
But then i looked outside the box, The box didn't like it, It closed it's lid
What was once a warm dry box to relax, Now is turning,
Turning into something else, The box got soggy and wet, It got cold and dark
I wanted out,
But getting out comes has a cost, To get out i must break the box, I must destroy this box,
This what i once loved, And cared for,  
annai
2 Deviation Comments
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Welcome mate. A friend of a friend of mine pointed me to a poem of yours, that's how I came to this page.
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Evasive boredom gets the best of us procastinating fuckers.
There shouldn't be a reason in order to interact with someone, other than that you can.
Do not fear affecting someone's life, the only person to blame is the one who can't handle love.
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