your skin is more than the scars that they see, it is a war. a war that you have no control over, it is your mind's catastrophic fight. you yearn to stop-need to, but at the same time you cannot. it is a feeling of release so you can appease the blood-curdling voices. But they don't stop and you don't stop. you say this is your last time.
but is it really?
no, just another battle you're bound to lose again. your body is free, but your mind is confined.
written 2•1•17
YOU ARE READING
IMPLICATION OF DESOLATION
Poetry(PART 1) the empty rooms with no doors isn't the worst part. it's hoping that one day someone will save us from the walls that howl at us for every mistake we've made. des·o·late adjective ˈdesələt/ (of a place) deserted of people and in a state of...
