Maybe the world would be a better place without me. Maybe I should just kill myself.
My sister would be happy heck she told my to go drink bleach and die. Because I'm a "faggot" a"homo" a disgusting piece of trash. And maybe I am. Maybe I'm just a waist of space. It's not like many people would care anyway.
My so called friends don't see that my smile is fake. They don't care that I slice my skin. They don't care that I want to die. In reality they are probably hoping that I'll just do it already. I'm useless and I'm better off dead.
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.
