Salted to be a fake.
Welcome to my world.
Welcome to my hate.
Step into my burning scars.
The tree which grows into nothing.
Rotten roots filled by red.
I am dead.
I never wants to be a tree that sees.
Instead it is stuck with me.
Black my mind to the wind.
Dark are the stars which shades to shine from behind.
Rings of ice, fingered to vanity.
Blistered by my sanity.
Fall into my descend.
Ascent before the blow.
I am crying.
I am dying.
Do you hear.
Can you feel.
Echoes of my call.
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Comments about this poem (Echoes by Unic Cjonr )
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- Never From You To Leave, Lawrence S. Pertillar
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