Poem: Empty

Like a desert dry and desolate.

My soul anguishes indefinite.

A plaything for your endless torment.

You could save my spirit make me whole.

Yet you make my suffering your goal.

Forever devouring my soul.

I can endure no more of this pain.

I beg, do not punish me again.

I’m dead inside, now you can refrain.

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About Phil

Just a man with a lot of stories, poems and things to talk about on his mind. Thanks for reading.
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