He thought that he was doing the right thing.
He dealt with others' problems before his so much. So much that he forgot to deal with his at all.
His wounds were oozing out scarlet blood, but did he care?
"I can't just stop now, that is way too selfish, I need to help them."
And on he went, trying his hardest to forget those red stains drenching his clothes everyday by sinking his mind and attention into the sewing, caring and curing of the scars of the ones he loved.
Little did he know, that soon enough his blood would drain out of his veins, leaving him with no other choice than lying on the cold hard ground, powerless, pain eating the remaining of his golden soul away.
He thought that he was doing well all along, but even the purest angel would know that what he was doing was indeed suicide.
But deep down, maybe that's what he always wanted all along?
~
Um, did you like it? :c
YOU ARE READING
My Rants
PoetryThis book. Rants turned into poems. My thoughts, my insecurities, my stories. Vomits of words when I am too full of thoughts to keep it in. Might be relatable and merely interesting, that's for you to find out. Might be depressing (most probably...
