Will my scars
ever fade?
Will the urge
to cut and bruise
ever fly away?
Could it take my fears,
along for the ride?
And maybe bring back,
self-confidence,
and just a little pride?
Could it's wings carry away,
my wish for death?
Could I live in this world,
and not hope that I was always taking my last breath?
YOU ARE READING
Nobody Was Meant to See
Poetry[Trigger Warning, please be safe when reading] They aren't supposed to know. They aren't meant to read these poems that I'm writing. I've concealed them for a reason. -Shitty poems about how I feel-
