It makes me sick.
I hate looking in the the
mirror.
I hate covering scars.
Why?
That's the big question that we want to know.
When?
This is the thing we crave to know.
Why me?
When will it get better?
These two questions never have a definite answer.
What we do know is how.
How things played out.
Not how they will.
Just how they did.
Our uncertainty....
Kills our minds.
YOU ARE READING
Broken Pieces
PoesiaThis is a collection of my pain over the past 6 or so years. Writing has always been my outlet. While many of us suffer from mental illness everyone of us copes in different ways. My style advanced over the years so bare with me in the first few cha...
