Poems for the kind hearted, the broken hearted, the cold hearted, and the pure hearted


12. Soul

Everyone has a part of their soul

Where it's just black, just a hole

Where evil sprouts from love

But how can a monster sprout from a dove

Just a couple of words and the hole gets big

Those with confidence of a branch, falls like a twig

To which you stomp, and tear through the good

How would you stop, But if you could

You're not a monster, as though everyone thinks

You're just a black souled person, who lost all the pink

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