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
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