She always wanted to be a drug,
someone others craved and needed to feel great.
She became like a family heirloom, passed around.
No-one really wanted her they just wanted her to drown,
drown from all the tears that kept cascading down her cheeks,
her face blotchy and red from the hours she had wept,
but no one would ever love her, not like this, not yet.
What do you get from being a drug?
Her life was others' satisfaction and she knew it had to change.
She now became like poison, killing everyone she met,
she got inside their minds and spilt her deadly liquid,
it corroded everyone but she acted like the victim.
She killed her own mind with the poison,
silencing all her thoughts, being a drug is better than being no-one at all.
YOU ARE READING
Dear Mentally Insane
PoetryPoetry is the writing of our deepest, darkest, most inner thoughts. When speaking isn't enough and your voice falls upon deaf ears, writing is our only refuge. Join me and experience the workings of my mind in my collection of original poems. (Credi...
