Dear Esther,
I'm sick of fighting.
I'm sick of everything.
Revolutions of triumph and loss,
Take place inside my clanging head,
Teeming with utter darkness and shade
Tears have shed,
Blood has spilled,
As demons take over me,
Against my will
Endeavouring is useless,
Just like myself
My life absolutely holds no importance.
I'd be elated, if I lose it --
I'd finally be free.
Quinn
YOU ARE READING
shards of the heart
Poetry❝the scars that screamed of revolutions inside her head and the shards that made up her heart were things that no one saw.❞ suffering from a terrifying eating disorder and from a shattered home, quinn's greatest tormentor is imperfection. her world...
