This house that is rifled with cracks & steams is home to one
Either he makes do or sleeps outside under the sunbeams
Don't have much choice but to imagine a better life in his dreams
Emptied rooms lacking color scheme
A crumbling roof, the very foundation brought to its knee's
One so abrupt couldn't escape let alone scream
Calamity strikes and the heart ceased
So when you arrive at the heavenly gates no need to plead
For this is a deep sleep where light is unforeseen
And paradise is just a distant dream
YOU ARE READING
Your Lie in April
Poetry'Your Lie in April' is the third collection of mine; some lines only I and the person intended would understand that being said everything's up for interpretation it can mean something totally different to you and the next person reading which is we...
