my sadness grasps at my throat
slowly digging its nails into my skin
carefully choking me
and while I wish you knew what it does to me
I know you'll never make an effort to see
and I think that hurts more than my bleeding skin
YOU ARE READING
Poetry For The Wandering Mind
Poetrythis is some poetry, some personal, some not. Enjoy!
Look at me
my sadness grasps at my throat
slowly digging its nails into my skin
carefully choking me
and while I wish you knew what it does to me
I know you'll never make an effort to see
and I think that hurts more than my bleeding skin