The Marrow

The Marrow Poems

I sit in the dark. A shadow to my sins.
Cuts all over but where does it begin.
The pain falls everywhere but stronger inside,
No one understands so in darkness I hide.
...

The rope hangs on. only a second away.
if pulled by a body itll begin to sway.
hanging there so alluring and free.
i look through the noose to see a reflection of me.
...

3.

Why is life so harsh and cruel?
with everyone using hate as fuel.
in this life so dark and frightful.
why is death so insightful?
...

As life goes from heaven and hell
See people in pain with no family to tell
As death comes to take its souls
Many hearts are filled with holes
...

I see the world from eyes that bleed
Because its pain the heart needs
Sinking in this bloodied heart
Emotions and feelings torn apart
...

they say that life is great and fun.
that life is like the setting of the sun.
but little do they know that life is cruel
a place to be hated and treated like a fool.
...

life goes by. a fading thought
people who run from the past will only be caught
for how life moves. a distant escape
no one can predict the monsters shape
...

the path i walk seems so small
but only as my tears fall
i once knew. this path would end
but not before my tears spend
...

death comes closer as god moves his will
so many lives taken for something to fulfill
the life people treasure. at mercy till the end
with power over sand its life i bend.
...

I know emotions can be tangled and bound
but the key is staying strong and happiness will be found
a reason to live a normal life
I hope you think of this poem when you pick up a knife
...

I come from a family distant at first.
But now I see my life is more of a curse.
Locked away from people. A freak show to see
But why are the ones watching my family.
...

The Best Poem Of The Marrow

An Emo's Mind

I sit in the dark. A shadow to my sins.
Cuts all over but where does it begin.
The pain falls everywhere but stronger inside,
No one understands so in darkness I hide.
The loneliness enters as the pain melts away
But I still cry to myself. Maybe itll be gone one day.
But my hair still covers what the world doesn’t know.
Feelings of happiness that’ll never show.
My wrist is a canvas. My razor a brush.
Why can I create art with a single touch.
The night calls and when it rains I cry.
No matter how damaged the heart maybe. I wonder why doesn't it die?

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