I have to watch the time to know when. To leave,
Although school is torture I grab my sweater and pull it up sleeve by sleeve.
The walk is chilly , but the sun is hot,
The streets I walk on are cool and cracked,
Cracked like me , cracked like my heart, cracked like my soul.
Wind blows all around me, sending chills up my spine as I walk in a straight line toward the stop where I'll be taken away to a place I've mentioned earlier, that place we call school is a place I call hell, but "oh well, we all have to do things we don't want to do"
Do we? Or are we just following a script In life ? I want to change it, I want to stay home and curl up in my bedroom and let my thoughts eat me away.
Instead I stand here, gasoline filling my nose and cars passing by.
It's mornings like these I don't want to be alive.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry from a damaged soul
PoesíaMany words that have been trapped inside finally scratched at the walls of my soul and escaped.
