Acting is exhausting.
My mouth hurts, my continous pulling at it's corners to make sure everyone else believe I'm okay.
I don't want to cry behind closed doors anymore.
I don't like the feeling of my shirt balled up in my mouth to prevent my sobs from being too loud.
I don't want to fight for the sake of those who can very well keep going without me, even if they, themselves, don't see it.
I can't keep fighting something that is so deep within me.
For it to take its way out, I slice my skin wide open, I force my fingers down my throat, I use a lighter to my thighs.
Yet it always, always, find its way back, burying itself back inside me.
I won't keep fighting something I don't want to fight.
YOU ARE READING
Suicide Notes
Poetry'how can a person be filled with life and then be empty? Where does it all go?' A collection of suicide notes. (thank you farah (the_author15) for the dope cover, I love you).
