I often wonder if I'll be
like you,
heat up, snap and leave
like you do,
if I'll just numb myself
like you did
if I'll be able to hide
like you hid;
I wonder if I'll grow
into your mould,
if I'll age as you did
looking so old,
Look so worn like
I had sinned,
Have an itch on my scalp
where your hair has thinned;
Will I drink my liver through
night after night,
or spark up my lungs with a
cigarette light?
Or will I find someone to guide
me away like you,
and find myself leaving
as you seem to do?
YOU ARE READING
An Amalgamation of Words
PoetryI'm almost as bad at writing descriptions as I am at writing poems, but at least I tried. Sharing my inner turmoil, one poorly worded sentence at a time.
