it's uncomfortable
I'm uncomfortable
I speak
no one listens
But they sees
this is a burden
it's quite unsettling
like the dirt
beneath my nails
YOU ARE READING
In The End, The Fault Was Mine. Not Your's, Not The World's
PoetryA poem collection. May be autobiography, may be biography. People will read the same words but think different things, feel different emotions. These poems may seem complicated, but are there simple in "life"?
006. Bother
it's uncomfortable
I'm uncomfortable
I speak
no one listens
But they sees
this is a burden
it's quite unsettling
like the dirt
beneath my nails
