god it was so much work i wasted on you
such a poor decision
all in the name of patronizing love
i hate you.
your eyes show hours of work cut to shreds,
and for what?
for your silly stupid mind to say to itself:
"ill be okay, ill be fine"?
you're more than scum, much worse
you're the wasps that riddle the earth
so many of your kind exist
because that's what life has taught you, apparently
to hang around the worst crowds that actively hurt,
to do vaping, which by the way i tried,
you're pathetic for using it in the first place.
it's so unimaginably stupid to be addicted to it
there's nothing even remotely nice about it
it tastes like shit, the smoke feels terrible,
you're the saddest sack of shit for staying attached
congratulations on the worst addiction ever
and the most pitiful one, at that
i can recognize my issues, like my want to get drunk
it's not a good thing, at any point
but i recognized it.
unlike you, who doesn't have any self regard.
you're genuinely worthless if you can't give even
YOURSELF a nod to the fact you're idiotic.
you recognized it's a problem much too late.
"I'll quit when im 18"
you shouldn't have had to stop, you shouldn't have gotten started
you're such a poor thing aren't you
deranged mental
insane thoughts
inability to love yourself
no will to live
give yourself a reminder with those cuts
as to who you really are,
weak and miserable.
Ella Mindrup.
you're not the one who dated chris, logan, or me.
you're the girl who needs much professional help,
more cuts to soothe your mind, and a rush of blood flowing for your psyche to be ordered properly.
give up, let go, and let us see your soul fly from your body, as you're not dragged or pulled anywhere, as you sit simply in darkness. nothing will exist for you, and that's exactly what people like you should receive.
let your eyes close, let the curtains close, and give your ma one final kiss, because it's time to say goodbye to everything you've ever loved. it's not what you earned in your sad life, and nothing you did warranted happiness.
do it, kill yourself, shoot yourself, slit across your wrists, arms, legs, neck, hang yourself, do whatever you feel nessecary, to finally get out of space meant for someone who actually means something.
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
