Every Day At Home

i open my font door to see all the sorow poor, covers the floor,
i stand with a stance its weak my hed hangs on my chest facen my feet,
wotchn the sadness seep thew the craks im traped i relice that,
followin yeatdays tear drops remains its funny how thay stain,
im out of ink again,
im on the brink to stop tredin water n just sink,
were the liveless remains in a state of timeless fate,
how i regret openin the gate n taken steps to my fate,
i feel like im late to end n just sitin here waten tryin to pretend,
its all good,
if only i could im prity sure would.

poem by Elude Most
Added by Poetry Lover
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