The ends of my hair
Go reddish brown when
It's time to have it cut.
My throats gets a little
Too dry when I've smoked
More than I've breathed,
And it starts to choke me
Slightly.
I ache in my chest
When I can't think straight
And the pounding of my heart
Makes it harder to make sense
Of everything running through
My head.
YOU ARE READING
Dysphoria And Other Ritualistic Behaviours
PoetryMy mind is a storm water drain. Contained within is my current attempt to force my hand. I used to write every night, now I'm lucky if it's once every three months.
