What am I?
What am I meant to be?
Why am I constantly in a bewildered state?
Why am I immune to reality?
Why do I sense irrelevance within my words and thoughts?
I'm trying too hard.
I'm not trying enough.
What do I need within?
I thought I had it, but I don't.
Why am I alone?
Why do I keep thinking of being by myself?
I try not to think about it, but this state of involuntary isolation claws at me.
Why do I wander?
Why do I ask these things?
Why am I here?
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...
