what a lie it is
to say that im not struggling
what a lie it would be
to say that i didn't miss you
i fucking miss everything about you
i wonder if it it'll ever stop
when i slip further
what a lie it would be
to not admit to just wishing it was all over
what a lie it is
to say I wasn't wishing for death
when the memories i held
when the aspirations i hoped for
seeped through the bag of what im allowed
no more will i have any long term hope
ill want to go as long as possible
but i cant ever trust a soul again
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
