The handA Poem by Nearstayy
He played the hand he'd been dealt, in hopes his tortured mental health would bring him ample wealth,
all the anger he'd dispelled, all the "f**k you's" he hadn't yelled, were held back and channeled, so when he finally let his hate escape, it lit a fire so great, that his past was incinerated, his pain eviscerated. © 2016 Nearstayy |
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Added on October 31, 2016 Last Updated on October 31, 2016 |