An empty bottle -
that's exactly what life is.
That may not be the case for some people,
but it is for me.
_____________________
At one time,
I was full.
The bottle consisted of my happiness.
My love.
My hope.
My excitement.
My ambition.
Overtime,
my insides spilled out of me,
bit by bit.
Now, I'm empty.
Unsure of what to feel.
What to be.
How to live.
Tired of pretending that life is full,
when it is not.
Emptiness is killing me, internally.
YOU ARE READING
Dear Suicide...
Poetry(#12 in Poetry- 3/5/17 |14 in Poetry- 2/28/17 |23 in Poetry- 11/18/16) Have you ever considered picking up a pen and writing to the one you fear most? Well, that's what I've done. When I write to my fears, It's oddly satisfying, because I know that...
