A Withered Soul
White lines sit ever so vertical;
Upon a tarnished glass
A razor engraves the surface
As though it were the last.
With every line a story told of a broken life.
Up your nose you feel relief.
In a wonderland you explore.
No sence do you make.
My heart you will break.
Yet you always want more.
On a stone a story told;
Etched in the glass of which you scrap.
Here lies a withered soul.
Because of the choices that she made.
Goodbye my friend.
Copyright © Christie Mills | Year Posted 2008
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment