lookin at the girl across the sink
thinkin, "what the hell have you just done?"
while i feel like shit
feels bad to feel good
eyes deep and sunk in
soaked and red with blood
each finger a promise yet to be broken
and yet every moment
just to feel a semblance of something different
i wanna break my promises
hoping each one writes into my palm
that nobody knows my name
bones that know no pain
clinging to the flesh
that gives me these abhorrent thoughts
ive spent way to much time
thinking about, dreaming about
my demise
what i see in my eyes
is a place
where nobody loves me
and every day i hope
im not living in it
so every day
i act as a companion
standing so tall
hoping i can catch any fall
but i feel nothing more than a doll
dont have a home for my body
i just live in the space in between
uncanny how much im like an NPC
waiting for dialouge
never speaking unless spoken to
as 2D as the screen
what purpose do i even serve
just listening to lies
cant even feel better with my highs
just cant wait to die.
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
