Digging and burying her nails into her skin,
that was how she felt alright.
Maybe not entirely,
but it was enough, quite enough
to shut out the voices inside her head.
She's screaming for them to stop, pleading with them,
whispering in agony, hot tears rolling down her cheeks.
Everyone was their own masterpiece,
but she was ruined,
without a clue on how to repair herself.
— She wants it to end. Please.
YOU ARE READING
up in the clouds
Puisishe felt trapped, or more likely she really was stuck wherever she was. writing poems was her escape out of the black hole she fell in through. whenever she wrote what she had to say and expressed what she had felt, it was almost like she was up in...
