There was blood in my tears.
Liquor was drenched in my fears.
My skin was sliced.
My courage was diced.
Picked it up and tossed it away.
I told the pastor that all was okay.
Doctors just told me I'm scum.
I want it all to be done.
Abandoned my conscious in front of a fire station.
Momma named her third baby damnation.
I stopped trying to thrive.
I'm barely trying to survive.
Third born to the king of hell.
My crib was a cage but yet "all was well".
The medication on top of my night table,
Is the only fucking thing that could keep me stable.
So I pour it down the drain,
Stick a knife in my vein,
Fill my lungs with M. Jane,
Do it all the fuck again.
Dried up blood patches on my jeans.
The streets filled with druggies and feens.
Can't tell if the blood on my hands
is my own or the dying man's.
I would crawl to my momma and be on my knees.
Beg her to love me and save me please.
I raid her meds,
I take her meds,
She says I'm fine,
We take her meds.
My fingers are itching to touch,
Something I will never clutch.
I want to grasp on the concept of love.
So I wrap my hands around her neck and choke her when push comes to shove.
YOU ARE READING
Numbing Waves
PuisiA compilation of short stories and poems about mental disorders, love, sexuality, and whatever my happens in my life worth writing about. These are the deepest regions of my conscious written down.
