Now it's just stuck,
Like a stickler from the grass;
It won't get off my mind,
And ignoring it
Is like putting a bandaid over a thorn.
It's itching,
Stinging,
Becoming infected,
Festering with bad thought,
Encased with depression.
It'll stay here for a while,
I've accepted that already.
I can't get away
From the bad thoughts
Inside my brain.
YOU ARE READING
Stories, Poems, and Other Things
RandomA compiling of random stories and poems I write while on my frequent and lengthy hiatuses. Hopefully you like them~~
