Yes, I am breathing,
but my lungs are clogged up
with smoke so intoxicating
that I wish for death to come and blow me up
into pieces people won't even miss.
— Tired from waiting for my eternal rest.
YOU ARE READING
up in the clouds
Poetryshe 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...
