Three months and twenty-six days. Three fucking months and twenty-six days. She gave in. She let the moment react on the problem. She picked up the blade again, claiming she knew she'd do it sooner or later, and picked the first . Now it starts again. The process of a life time. They start small, but will grow to big for her body to handle. She says she's fine. She's not fine, I know her. I know this is just a start of her old life style.
The thing that irritates me the most is that the day before,she was saying that we were going to make it another year. I guess this 'another year' is a solo act. Now I'm the one fighting to keep both of us alive.
dedicated to my friend lia. sorry I wasn't there for you enough.
YOU ARE READING
lost & confused
Poetrythis is basically just some sucky poetry written by myself. I'm going through depression and this is how I basically feel.
