every single time
the night falls apart
into ambience and darkness
i clasp my hands
trying to hold it together
because i spiral
and spiral
away, deeper down
at nightfall
repeatedly
i don't want to do this to you anymore
i try
but my selfish braim, my selfish body
it wants attention and still i crave more
i keep crying and whining
as i heave and weep
over nothing but spilt milk
it makes me realize how much i hate myself
how much i am undeserving of such a concept, love
and it makes me wonder
how you can ever even hope to stay ontop
of my fuckery and fucked up mental
all this time.
i feel like cutting myself
i want to feel the pain
the blood
the open wound uselessly bleeding
and finally giving me a true purpose.
YOU ARE READING
I'll Be Fine (pt. 2 of 2)
Poetrypoetry showing my stress. relieving, coping, really. continuing to add poems, sometimes daily. use this as place to talk about your own frustrations and dances with pain and strife
