All night,
Staring at the ceiling,
Counting the minutes I'm feeling,
Drowning in my tears,
Drying my eyes with the words you wrote,
Cutting open my throat to get the words I've been dying to say to you out,
Ripping open my skin and showing my true form,
A monster.
The shadows tend to comfort me when I'm in pain, leading me over to the dark rain
That crashes upon my skin and drips off the canvas of white paper
And dried as red.
If you're lonely...come be lonely with me...
YOU ARE READING
Loud Pøetry Spilled From The Quiet Soul
PoetryAll of these are mine. Not the Internet. Trigger warning. (Self mutilation, depression, anorexia, etc....) And my apologies if they aren't even slow to Bukowski or Anything....I just wanted to try
