I feel the burn
And I watch the clock turn
My mind is now free
But only for a count of three
Then it all comes rushing back
My mind again, starts to crack
So I continue reaching for the pain
There's not way that I am sane
Is this how it will always be
Just the clock, burn, and me
Self hurt and hate is all I know
I've just always felt this low
No ones there but the burn
And the clock, it will turn
YOU ARE READING
Poetry
PoetryI write poems. I decided to post them on here. Why? No reason. Just cuz I can. Maybe someone will like them. Or relate. So um enjoy, I guess :-)
