I'm done with people,
I'm sick of this place.
My heart doesn't live here, this is not my home.
In this vast universe, I am a lost soul.
I feel trapped in my own body.
I demand to be set free.
I cut my flesh open but it doesn't set me free.
I pluck the flowers in my head, until my garden is empty.
Then I have a thought,
So, I decided I must rot away slowly here, and in time I can go back home.
I spend my days trying to clean out, the proof of my existence.
I confined myself behind four walls,
and I pretend to not exist.
Let me suffer for the greater glory.
I must survive this journey.
For I will be home, one day.
YOU ARE READING
THERAPY
PoetryMy head is in a dark place right now, and I must save myself through art.
