Sit back.
Relapse.
Make peace.
Don't try and fight it.
Just hide it.
My wrists are sharp and pointed,
My ribs come out to far,
They cage my chest and still press,
My stomach to go in once more.
YOU ARE READING
Poems from the dark
PoetryTrigger warning. To be polite. These are poems I've written. In all honesty not the good ones. Or maybe they are. But they're not my print published ones. I'm not that brave. :)
