Kim Wilson Poems

It's not right to bury a child, we'll miss your smile.
At the age of sixteen, this all seem so mean.
With my eyes filled with tears, my mind filled with sorry,
it's my heart that's in pain, I wont see you tomorrow.
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I like to use my brush, in the morning, afternoon, during work, after work and in the shower, on the bed and in the shower sometimes. I like my brush.
My brush is special, meaning I've named her.
You can call her honey, or candy she answers to both.
My brush has gotten me in some trouble a few times.
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My mind runs
My eyes fill
My mouth is wet
My thoughts are heavy
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I hate you
It sound so final, it sounds so hurtful, but is it right for you to hurt me without any remorse?
I hate you
It's easy to say today was hard to say yesterday and impossible to say a week ago, but you know what?
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