This isn't a competition, but I don't want to lose, this isn't a choice, but perhaps I did chose,
This isn't a lifestyle, but it's how I seem to live, I want to give up, but there's nothing left to give.
There's nothing to be done, yet so much for me to do, some motivation remains, but it's very far and few,
I'm falling now but I'll take my bitter-sweet time, thinking of the next line to rhyme;
I'm so very sick of the skin I am in, I want to be nothing but a skeleton,
I want to ignore that voice in my mind, but it's the only comfort I'm able to find,
So the advice I will follow, I'll continue to feel hollow,
Writing these words doesn't seem to helping me, so, I'll finish this line, I guess, and I'll go.
YOU ARE READING
An Amalgamation of Words
PoetryI'm almost as bad at writing descriptions as I am at writing poems, but at least I tried. Sharing my inner turmoil, one poorly worded sentence at a time.
