I hate the way I am,
I want to be done more days
Than others.
I am tired of breathing,
When every part of my life is sitting
On my chest.
If I ripped out my lungs
Maybe they would work better,
Or maybe not at all.
Either way is fine with me.
At this point it is life or death
And I don't want to really do
Either of them.
I don't want to hurt anymore
And that's what I'll go by until my very end.
- is it worth my time?
YOU ARE READING
Shattered glass
Poetry［Highest ranking: #15］"Perhaps 'it wasn't meant to be' was our meant to be" he says as he chugs down yet another drink. She looks at him and rolls her eyes, "I wonder when your organs will give up on you too".
