They ask me who I work for.
I tell them I don’t know what their talking about.
They open the door.
I remain stout.
After the whip.
Where they take my blood.
They take me for a dip.
They dropped me to the bottom mud.
They laugh as I gasp.
I still won’t talk.
My voice is getting rasp.
They take me for a walk.
That maiden is mad.
She takes innocence and isn’t sad.
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3 comments:
that's a pretty cool poem. kudos.
the last two lines are a little awkward, and at some points it seems like your just throwing words together because nothing else fits...
but other then that, it's cool.
maybe try just writing instead of trying to follow a style?
Brii333 is retarded and oesnt know what shes talking about
this poem is great
hahaha
just a poem
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