How can I possibly expect to have a good day when I open my eyes and want to die.
Call me defeatist but I am lost to never be found.
Every step I take is a step further into the darkest depths of hell.
My smile is getting faker and faker and the life in my soul has been extracted without morphine.
"Love yourself" but how and why?
"Happiness is an option" and I obviously want it so why am I so distant from okay?
I am too young to feel like dying but I can't switch it off;
Pain is coursing through my veins;
A thousand pinpricks to my head, my heart, my soul.
I will not be my mental health but we are slowly colliding and reforming into one.
Make it stop.
-by holly boyd
YOU ARE READING
Words We Cannot Speak
PoetryPoems; Woe and hope, love and despair Poems mend us, they repair. Broken souls mixed with broken minds, Poems teach us what it is to be alive. They offer thoughts to inspire. They give us hope to aspire, They answer unanswerable questions They offer...
