No one eats the cookie crumbs
After they've fallen on the floor.
They're dirty, small, insignificant,
And quite frankly a bore.
I find myself sympathetic,
Since we are just the same.
No one seems to care,
Nor cares about my name.
If crumbles meant something,
Then we wouldn't stay on the ground.
We are just the leftovers,
So we get tossed around.
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In Darknesss
PoetryThis is a collection of poetry I have written on darker subjects such as suicide, death, self harm, etc. If this may be triggering to you, proceed with caution. Some of these were written in my stay at a mental institution where I was allowed a comp...
