Ill Poem by Amy J Richardson

Ill



The window grill shadows are suddenly prison bars in my mind.
But I like the smell of my freshly cut flesh
I like the blood
The open wound
I like this...
No wonder the world tries to lock me away.

(c) Copyright - 5.07pm Saturday 30th August 2008

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success