The waters rose.
Help me.
The blades cut deep.
Help me.
There's no help to seek.
Because no one believes.
As the blood spills.
And the body gets chills.
The heart and mind go downhill.
My body shivers.
There's a windchill.
My soul is cold and my heart doesn't beat with the same rhythm that carried my feet through the tough times.
I'm out of time.
I cannot decide.
Whether or not to hide.
I'd rather fight.
But if I might show a little aggression the world will implode.
Because "I'm too nice."
Put your thoughts on ice and share them when I die because your words don't define me.
Your eyes can't see me.
The real me.
The one I dare anyone to see.
Despite the hate.
Despite the love.
Leave me alone
YOU ARE READING
Words.
PoetryThis is a book I write in to relieve my mind of the horror it creates for itself. Poems or not, they're words. Definitions or examples, they're words. My words. Read it or not, they're my words.
