"You can and will be better" - voices
"Your hope is pathetic" - louder
"Not right now, but things will get better." -quieter
"They wont" - louder
"You're just being negative" - whispers
"Realistic." - shouts
"Everything's ok" - mutter
"No your still fucked up. Look at your reflection." -yells
"That girl said you were pretty" - murmur
"She lied" - screams
"You'll get better" - hushed
"You'll never get better." - shrieks
"Take the blade,
the rope,
the pills,
the jump" - deafening
"One day everything will be ok..." - silence
The voices would never stop. The problem was, they were her own.
YOU ARE READING
Untitled
Poetry"She is that one extra school book you always buy but never use. She is that song you always skip on your favourite bands CD, there's always one. She is the clouds in the sky, so common they are dismissed. She is the dead flies on a logger...
