She wore short sleeves
Cries for help from people
They merely cough and sneeze.
Her solitary steeple
She can't breathe
Like someone's giving her a squeeze
She can't think
People tell her she ain't beautiful
Is it voices you hear?
Is it memories you bear?
Or is it something sticky,
That clings to your hair,
Your mouth?
Your eyes?
And inside your nose?
Slowly suffocating
You are disintegrating
And the only way out
Through cutting.
Cut through the walls
And hope it doesn't grow back.
YOU ARE READING
My Mind
Short StoryI'm basically writing stuff that pops into my mind- that makes sense anyway. Though I do have depression so that kinda the theme for this book- it's more of an outlet than anything, even if I am super happy from time to time.
