My head pounds and hands shake
My lungs burn and stomach ache
Having skipped my meds I lie here
Tossing and turning wide awake
"It's your birthday, you're twenty one,
Now Here comes the real fun"
But I don't think I want that high
They Chase it and I wonder why
What a cheap comfort, what a cruel joke
a fistful of powder or lungful of smoke
Is that what warms you? Then pardon my sass
You can keep the booze, I think I'll pass
YOU ARE READING
Paper girl
PoetryA collection of late night thoughts, from spills of emotion to 3am moods. Including childhood poems, Letters I never got to send, Lyrics I can't sing aloud, And miscellaneous quotes and fragments from yet to be published stories. Disclaimer: •chapt...
