I look up at the sky.
I can't seem to picture
anything beautiful.
Just a great big black hole,
and I'm sucked in.
I look down at my feet,
feeling lower than the dirt,
than the litter on the street.
I can't compete
with you.
And I can't even tell you how I feel.
And I can't even tell you how I feel.
Because you are here, but I am gone.
And I lost my will—my will to live,
and you don't know. You don't know.
You don't know and I can't tell you.
You won't understand.
I don't wanna be treated like a child
who can't control herself...even if it's true.
I'm broken. I'm broken.
I'm lost and hidden.
When will I wake up again
and stop feeling broken?
I don't know.
YOU ARE READING
The Things We Don't Talk About
Poetry***Trigger Warning: Mental health, mental illness, eating disorders, suicidal ideation, self-harm*** A collection of poems delving into the dark side of the human experience. From high highs to low lows, emotion can be intense. And this collection s...
