It's often cold here, no matter how warm it is outside.
Each day that I still allow air in and out of my lungs, is another spent in agony.
Another pitiful day, another empty bottle.
Every step leading nowhere,
one more paycheck spent on pills and liquor, it helps me forget.
As I sit in my chair and swig the bottle of Jack and swallow these problems in the form of pills.
I have yet to succeed at dying, but everyday is a new day, In a life with no purpose.
There is always tomorrow to try to die again.
YOU ARE READING
Darker Days
PoetryI am nothing and everything. The life I live is plagued with pain and fear. Poison runs through my veins and paralyzes me with the icy grip of loneliness. Absent of love and happiness, yearning for the sweet tender touch of the reaper to free me fr...
