Why did I do it again?
Just a never ending cycle of emptiness.
A cycle that tells you your not good enough.
No matter how much you try to think your better.
It all comes back down on you.
Laughing with friends.
Smiling.
The things that you once done, just comes crashing down like a iceberg.
You then beat yourself up, because you became one with your thoughts.
You want to get better, but you find happiness in the dark.
And comfort in the dark.
We are all just broken children who wanted a hug.
A hug that could maybe one day fix this.
Fix this dreadful "life" that I've been living.
Do I even call it life?
I might look alive, but my mind isn't.
My mind is stuck in the past.
I try to pull it out, but it won't forgive them.
It sits there, looking out at what you once had.
And crushes what you could have.
Love, your poetic
person.
YOU ARE READING
Broken poems
Poetry⚠️-Warning- ⚠️ This story contains information that talks about depression and other topics related to it. If you do not feel comfortable with reading about things like that please feel welcomed to exit. :)
