⚠️⚠️⚠️TW: SUICIDE⚠️⚠️⚠️
as i sit on the freezing floor,
i still feel the smooth, white pills
sliding down my throat.
my hands start to look far;
my thoughs are echoing in my head.
i move my crying eyes up to the blinding lightbulb;
is it worth it?.
YOU ARE READING
Trash of the Soul
Poetryversi liberi perché i sentimenti non si ordinano e foto di piccioni che vedo per la strada, solitamente morti.
