Sometimes I look at myself and I look into my eyes,
I notice the way I think about blood with a smile,
Curved lips I just can't disguise.
But I think it's death making my life worthwhile.
Why is it so hard for me to decide who I love more?
Death or...
Myself?
YOU ARE READING
Reaper In The Dusk.
Poetry| Compilation of poems about depression｜ I present you the wounds that never showed on me which are deeper than anything that bleeds. This is my only chance to escape free a penalty for my deeds. My head is a very dark place. Which needs to be cared...
