You realise that it was always to do with being paper,
but it was always more, too. It was failure.
Why couldn't you just succeed for once?
It was doing something for yourself.
It was a challenge.
It was wanting to disappear from this Hell.
And knowing you took pleasure from this twisted sadness.
YOU ARE READING
Coloratura
PoesiaPoems I wrote as a mentally ill adolescent with nothing to do but write and cry sometimes.
