Pain, just another thing,
another reason,
to end it all.
I'm stuck in a rut,
looking down at the scale reading 123,
holding the blade in a shaking hand, crying myself to sleep,
throwing up and not eating,
this thing, pain,
its so addictive.
Its made me its prisoner,
its bitch,
it makes me beg.
But how much longer,
until I give in to what it wants?
YOU ARE READING
Sad Book of Poetry
PoetrySome of the poems I've written, all of them sad. If you don't like sad stuff, don't read it.
