Friend, whose face
has not filled my eyes...
All of this anger bottled up -
I will someday explode and no one...
The thing with writing
sad poems is, that one...
There is a place that has been
written about before, many poems...
Your eyes had never
tasted the colors of spring...
She's desperatly fading
From reality's grasp...
Just smile,
he'd never hit you...
You've been through it already.
I'm going through exactly what you battled...
Rowdy glides through
the same dog-paths...
I am getting sick of disappointments
Where ever i go there lies one...
I've scraped surfaces
of what needs to be...
Like everyone who grew up
in abusive atmospheres do...