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I admit it, I wanted it to end. To cease to exist and to die; Are two very different things. But I knew this, didn't I?
Some days I would kneel on glass. In lonely black hours, I lit flames to hide my shadow and drank poison to drown my pain.
But on those off days where instead of swallowing a fist full of white pills, instead I would shower.
The tub would be stained from the blood the night before, and I would take countless hours .
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YOU ARE READING
Pale Soul Sea (#Wattys2018)
PoetryHe would chip away at my cold exterior dodging shards of ice until I was no longer hard, but even though he cracked through the surface. . . My heart would not melt.
