Category : Poems

Sub Category : N/A

This house with four walls,
Makes my heart bleed my past.

 The place where I dreamed
 Is just a bed of planks, 
A gray blanket and a pillow, 
Long nights and sorrows,
A floor from where I see the stars.

  My room with a few windows
 Keeps the rain off my eyelids,
 But I often cry about my problems...
Not with others, only with myself.

This life of death makes me alive
 Through every cell of mine.
This house with four walls,
I'm dead when I'm inside it.