Ten broken tales
Ten broken talesone belonging to a frustrated kid
from a broken home
two parents holding knives
and their blood stained hands
pouring all their poison on his feet
he slams the door and never looks back
the second belonging to a girl
locked in a psychiatric hospital
abandoned from the world
all her hope gone
even fear is on the wall
and sorrow in her eyes
she looks away and wonders why she is in there
the third one belonging to a junkie
walking the streets and begging for money
all alone,without a home
parents dead
hanging by a thread
the thread of life and death
his breath smells like death
and winter does no good
the fourth one belonging to a lonely lover
broken by a girl
who never appreciated
never saw
inside
never looked through him
through his troubled heart
once torn apart
forever apart
the fifth one belonging to a faded rockstar
living decades of sex and glory
with a bunch of expensive champagne bottles near his bed
and a couple of girls stripping over his head
now sits by the radio
and expects one more song
one more song
before the years of fame are totally gone
the sixth belonging to a prostitute
selling her body to the night
with net tights torn and cigarettes in her mouth
forever waiting by the road
for another car to pass by
as another clock hits midnight
she has already made her money
the seventh belonging to a poor poet
who tries to publish his ideas
but no one ever listens
another voice drowned by the crowd
another glimmer of despair
as tears sink down
in the hole on the ground
the eighth belonging to a woman
married, with two kids
pretending she is happy
working all day
having no one to talk to
phenomenically okay
but no one knows
no one sees
how she feels at the end of the day
the ninth belonging to an old lady
having one grandchild
he never calls
never comes along
to say hi
to say a goodbye
never a word
forgotten souls
lying on the bed,exhausted
the tenth belonging to a girl
betrayed by her friends
unloved,alone
always depending
always pretending
waiting for happiness
to come along
but always
sleeping on a thorn.
ten people sleep on different beds under same skies
and one of them each day breaks and dies.
Poetry by Eva
Read 781 times
Written on 2009-03-15 at 22:11
Tags Sad
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