I find it so hard to breathe in a world full of thieves. Wandering leaves, for your planted feet. As your roots begin to feed on my rotting corpse. Cold, I fucking hate it here, I have to be numb and put a smile on my face, a circus is all I've become. Thinking of what act you'll applaud for the most, or do you want reality? That's become of me. To see the pool of blood is where I for all the damage you've done, you're killing me slowly.
YOU ARE READING
Release
PoetryThis is a collection of my writing from the past 7 years. Before I started to write, I was a very lost individual, as are most teens, but I was lost in darkness. I was too afraid to move anywhere at all. I hid in the dark, debilitated by my own anxi...
