The blobs on my chest
need to really be...less,
than they are when they act free.
They're not free from their
confines,
nor those of my mind.
Dysphoria is shit,
I do not want tits.
Dysphoria makes me want to die,
I really want to die.
YOU ARE READING
My Maze of a Mind
PoetryThese are some of my poems that illustrate how I feel sometimes, some will be happy - others not, so sorry if they depress you. WARNING: these poems may be triggering to some, in particular: The Treachery of the Knives, Beautiful Scarlet and The N...
