these are for the dried up tears on my bed, the lonely nights for when i was thought to be dead, for the glowing signs i have completely misread—this is for you, the one i would rather have instead. but this neutral life is hanging from a thread, swinging back and forth until the days come to an end. and as this world begins to shred, would you mind being the one who lets me shed the bloody tears caused by times that will never exist again? or are these memories that i have forced myself to repress now disintegrate under the umbrella of phrases that uncover the conviction saying i'm such a wreck? a feeble voice sputters out sentences that mean more than what is being said, like how music is made to be heard, not to be listened. and although what i'm saying will never be understood, this is from my heart and from the void within. so for my own sake, i'll put away my thoughts in hopes that yesterday as friends isn't another reason for it all to end.
YOU ARE READING
the war against myself
Poetrya trash bin full of my thoughts. revised; 2018 ✓ published; 2015 ☺︎ ranking; ⌗228 in poetic (2018) ranking; #9 on raw poetry (2019)
