When I'm up at 4:00 in the morning. I look up at my ceiling and think 'why am I even still here.' I think of ways to die and who would care and who wouldn't. I've tried to die. Sometimes I wish I would have but other time I'm glad I'm still here. But at the end of the day I still think sad thoughts.
YOU ARE READING
The broken
PoetryThe stinging burn of the water from my fresh cuts. The hot salty liquid streaming down my red hot cheeks. The times I am in so much pain that I can't even cry anymore.
