Dead inside, the dying.
Just bones and skin
and a heart beating slow within.
Bag framed eyes,
and scar tainted soul.
Just going through life
still and cold.
Harsh thoughts
keeping awake
though they're already
in a dead state.
The thoughts won't let them free.
Not unless they end it themselves.
But they can't.
For promises and people.
So they drift around
wishing to be equal.
And just as alive as everyone else
instead of dying inside,
for the sake of others.
YOU ARE READING
Nobody Was Meant to See
Poesia[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-
