"My wrist is sore," I say
You ask "why ?"
"I slept on it wrong," I replay
But there's a twist
I just split my wrist
They aren't sore from sleep
They are from thinking too deep
Not stopping and glancing
To see if you were watching
My wrist will remain sore
Until I hit the floor
You won't be there to stop me
You won't even find me
I will have split it
And my name will be like a pit
For others to see
And know who I used to be
Never remembered for my smiles
But how my body piles
YOU ARE READING
I'm hurting
PoetryThese are poems from deep inside my mind. I don't want any judgement about these ok. This is just my release from stress, sadness, and loneliness