I thought, that just maybe, it would work. That I could get rid of the pain by ending a heartbeat, a pulse, killing braincells. That my head would be clear and I'd have no worries.
But it didn't work. And now I lay here crying and sick to my stomach. I lay angry at myself, and I lay angry at God. He didn't let me go like I prayed. He didn't give me what I needed. He didn't give me release.
I wasn't meant to live long. I was meant to die at a young age, to suffer through life and hurt with the greatest amount of pain. I was meant to be crushed, forgotten, left, and broke.
But God, he did his work. He saved me. He saved my life because he thinks I'm important.
And now, I lay here with unfinished business. I don't know what it is. But, it's there, hanging over my head and waiting to be complete.
YOU ARE READING
Spoken Poetry
PoetryThese are some poems of my own. They are about all different things. Some of them can be a little upsetting for younger readers.
