the room is a crime scene in slow motion and one of us is struggling
i always thought i knew darkness before this i always welcomed it
used to pull covers over my head as a child used to do a lot of things
and my mother would call it a self-destruction would call it a tragedy
in three parts pills blade blood and dessert if i'd eaten all that was
on my plate could call it a sin to kill a living creature
teacher says to show my work and i show her how i traced the lines
of my hands with a pen the head line the heart line the life line
color in the pad of my thumb and stamp my best friend's skin with it
and one of us is struggling i kept a compass in my pencil case
kept safety pins and pencil sharpeners and disposable razors
if i'd been dumb things would have been easier and if i'd been smart
i'd be dead already it takes ten hours for the fly under the cup to die
i time it in how the sun rises the light golden yellow
and filling out the edges of my room.
YOU ARE READING
i don't really feel like fighting.
PoetryHOW CAN A HOLLOW CHEST FEEL SO HEAVY poetry, rambles, rantings, letters, etc. enjoy!! but read at your own risk* *massive tw for basically anything mental-illness related, including depression, anxiety, self harm, suicide, abuse, blood, knives/blad...
