breathing bottle
an orange man stands
next to me
in my room.
he whispers
thoughts that i
would have
never thought myself,
as my eyes
slam shut
and i scratch at them.
i open my eyes
to see
not the man but
his shadow.
-i am shit and depression is a pile of mold living inside of me
YOU ARE READING
another empty bottle
Poetrythis is a compilation of vent poetry. I will not be including trigger warnings, an exception made for the first piece. read at your own risk. wow reading over this is embarrassing am i really that unstable
