I know why you do it.
To repel.
The stress.
But every time you do it.
It just makes me so mad.
Are you selfish?
No.
You care too much with all your emotions.
That's why you do it.
Too repel.
The stress.
You hide the fact of the damages.
Too repel.
The stress.
Wasting money on such an addiction.
Too repel.
The stress.
You're in so much hurt.
I suppose I should let it go without batting an eye.
Because you do what you do.
Too repel.
The stress.
Helplessness embraces me.
Would you still do it if things were different?
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Poems Of Sad Sorts
PoetryHere are just collection of poems, quotes, and sorts. Created from rambled scattered thoughts. Most if not all display a depressive route. Everything that is present here may or may not get revised somewhere down the line.
