Toxic.
That word
It's plastered all over me like
Like a brand.
I've lost so many people
Because of my poisoned lips
And flint finger tips
That I apparently
Scrap over everyone and hope
They all catch fire and burn
With me.
The one person I thought,
Had my back.
And was immune to my
Touch.
Began to sizzle slowly.
Until they began to burn.
And let out a agonizing
Scream.
Which put me back into that reality.
I should've listened to my mum.
I should've killed myself when
She handed me that blade
And hit me.
I should've....
YOU ARE READING
Loud Pøetry Spilled From The Quiet Soul
PoetryAll of these are mine. Not the Internet. Trigger warning. (Self mutilation, depression, anorexia, etc....) And my apologies if they aren't even slow to Bukowski or Anything....I just wanted to try
