Date Written: 7/18/2021
Cold.
Dark.
I don't think anything.
Nothing.
I'm blank.
A clean slate.
"I'm fixed"
Is what I tell myself, over and over again.
I'm not sad, nor am I angry, or fearful,
Just nothing.
I'm empty.
A shell of what I used to be.
Nothing is left of me.
Who am I, even?
I'm a machine.
Am I truly 'fixed'?
Or is that just what I want myself to believe?
No, what others want me to believe?
I'm not fixed.
I'm not fixed.
I'm not fixed.
I'm.
Not.
Fixed.
"What have I become?"
YOU ARE READING
"...Will it ever be enough?"
Poesía(IMPORTANT: This is not something I'm proud of writing, but I am keeping it up for archival purposes) Not all that different from my Oneshot Book, this is a collection of poems I write in my free time. And, just like my Oneshot Book, I will most lik...
