A Place. Poem by tyrone allen

This Place for my pain, has made the paper bleed in each internal vain.


This place for my pain has been put up for rent. Since my heart always strain. Why do i keep something, that hurt so bad.

Beause happiness goes, leaving my mind broken like glass, Memories in pieces that is why they never last.

A place for my sorrow, And the place for my Hate, is up for grabs. But beware of the sin in which it have.



The place for my love has been abandon for years. I wonder if i went back to that place will i still be scared.

I remember a time when peace was a reality in that house. Nothing did not bother me. But careless slip through and played real violently.

So i wrote louder then thunder so nothing could silence me. And yet i'am stuck in this place. Where my pillow is decided by fate.

It is sad that this house now thrive off hate.



In this place, this moldy old place.

Where a Guillotine stands in its kitchens space.

The room walls always descend when Anger is called upon.

This place has a owner. But as long as i understand the upkeep.

In return i feel no closure. Retribution is what they recommend because God is their love, and i'am known as Sin.