Sunday

A bit of a mess in words

I have grown better because I am bitter.
They were never my friends, like a snake they would slither.
Shoved out in the cold i was fighting the shivers.
No one to hold but the bones of my sick figure.
Walking on coals but i can't escape.
Food has grown mold that is on my plate.
That reddish tint floods my face and wheezing breaths are all I take!