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Concrete

I guess this is what they call a sad poem.

By Kenzi SaavedraPublished 6 years ago 1 min read
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in repose she lays her head on the flat concrete floor

found comfort in depression as it had become her only friend

born to a psychotic and born to crying eyes

knows nothing more than screaming walls and quiet sunday mornings

she cuts her thumb on a black rose as it slowly turns into a snake

the blood runs down her arm

staining her skin with painful childhood memories and

regretful mistakes

she wakes up and it's only a dream

not able to move and along comes a dove

the concrete is now longer below but now..

above

sad poetry
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About the Creator

Kenzi Saavedra

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