Late at night:
It comes for me,
Through the day:
I know It can see,
At dusk:
It keeps me from sleep,
In the morn:
It makes me not eat,
In my mind:
It likes what it finds -
a broken girl,
with wilted curls,
fake smiles,
and lies,
and all the while,
nobody's noticed,
nobody's seen,
the shadow of the girl that I used to be,
now inhabited by the soulless It,
It that does make me what to hit.
I hit myself again and again,
and It's never satisfied It needs more friends,
so I scratch myself more and more,
all It seems to do is feel bored,
so I slit my wrists 'til the blood runs dry,
hoping this time is the time I'll fly.
The time when I fly far away from here,
to the place where It's no longer whispering in my ear.
YOU ARE READING
My Maze of a Mind
PoesíaThese 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...
