I can't write about you.
Not in the way that I write about my past.
My fingers yearn to type the word "were" in the same sentence as "you".
But my heart isn't there yet.
You are not a memory, but a reoccuring thought I cannot escape.
However, maybe I like it more this way.
And maybe, I'm not trying to escape.
YOU ARE READING
Whispered Thoughts and Screaming Lines
PoetryMy attempts at poetry Trigger warning for every poem Mentions of: suicide, self harm, eating disorders, dysphoria, etc. Most poems are written as spoken word so if they sound weird when you read them that's why
