Poop
Poop,
is raining on my head
wishing that I were dead
Don’t think that I can make it out this bed.
Poop,
is falling from the sky
wishing that I would die
I don’t think I can keep on try-ing
****, is falling all around
wish I was six feet under ground
I think that I am lost and can’t be found
This ****, just make it go away
because I know I have to stay
to make sure that my families okay.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
