I feel horrible.
Wrapped in sheets on the floor.
Hiding my face
in the clothes that I wore.
My thoughts eating at my brain.
Attacking my self esteem.
And my motivation.
And wearing them thin.
The erosion corroding in.
And staining my thoughts.
With explosive ink.
That's ready to blow.
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-
