She's seventeen,
And can already tell you everything,
About self destruction,
She can tell you how,
To dress fresh cuts,
In the dark,
With makeshift bandages,
And which foods,
Are easy to throw up,
She knows a thousand excuses,
"I already ate"
"I'm just cold"
"It was the cat"
She's learned to hold,
All her feelings inside,
Until late at night,
And cover her mouth,
With her hand,
So no one hears her,
She's perfected,
Her fake smile,
And she's been taught,
-Oh so painfully,
To build her walls up high,
To keep everyone out.
-A.S.
YOU ARE READING
My Dark Poems
PoetryTitle says it all. - They are not all dark, either. - And there is a few scary stories I found. Note: None of this is like, personal, or true, I convert my anger and depression into these poems. Some have meaning, others don't. Also there is a slig...
