Food for thought.
Food for boredom.
Food for heartache.
Food for pain.
Food...when my thoughts are a wreck.
When I am alone, food is a therapeutic medicine;
a non-deciever.
I forget about my collapsing walls,
and I indulge.
I tried to catch myself before it was too late.
Yes, I tried to stop myself -
but I could let go.
Do I see it as a mistake?
Not until the next morning,
when I stare at myself in the mirror,
and I worry about my present and future size.
Then, the guilt gets to me.
YOU ARE READING
Dear Suicide...
Poésie(#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...
