My Heart Poverty.........................

My heart is filled wit poverty it's alone i am hungry to be accepted
But my heart is filled wit poverty it speaks words of volmue but know one hears it

it's rejected.

My heart desire love and affection but it been shot in it's chest it needs reurrections.

Some say it's just a symptom but this heart is broken and steps on left on the ground unwanted......

this heart bleeds internally
My heart is filled wit poverty it's been deprived i don't know if it wants to beat anymore will it last another day to survive?

the conditions is bad ememies fightin in my veins went to my brain it blow up everything else was left was my heart and the remains.

Christian Guice

poem by Christian Guice
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Lost My Poems

Somewhere in the night a child cries,
A Losing soul someone weeps and someone dies.
No Wear to be found in the night, humanity hides.
Somewhere in the night, a soul screams, not mistakin a thing
As people fade and die, lost in dreams tryin to intervene.
Somewhere in the night, reality lives in people steal.
Somewhere in the night loneliness dwells, many people fell
As people die, no one cares i am telling you now so beware.
Somewhere in the night, one dies alone.
Somewhere in the night...
tryin to lived life depise tha anguish and fright i got to stay tight and hope we all reunite

Where is the light?

Copyright © ®2009, Christian B Guice. All rights reserved

poem by Christian Guice
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Sick and Tried My Poem

Ani hill Wit Christian Guice
Sick And Tired


Im sick of pretending its all perfect
Tired of living a lie actin like i kno and wonder why
Sick of loving you and having tha blues tryin to be equal to but reall me and you iz overdue
Tired of the tears I cry and saying goodbye draining me of your love you makin me crossed eye then i ask meself why do i even try?
Im sick of giving you my love
Tired of getting nothing in return
Sick of all other people in my life
Tired of being unable to learn and getin nothing in return
Im sick of running back to you
Tired of returning hurt it's like being in a desert
Sick of been laughed about
Tired of being treated like dirt i am on the alert
Im sick of living this life
Tired of being blue you could of knew
Sick of thoughts about giving up and hella switchin things up
Tired of the stupid things I do this iz what i am use to

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poem by Christian Guice
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