They reside in me; they're from my past, they want me dead.
Trying to heal, trying to feel. Not one to drink, or smoke, yet I want something to hold; longing for a ever dying hope.
I often want to die. This I can say for certain, I mask my need for death, but It's always there. My demons are always there. I hate putting the sweet scent of lilacs over the smell of my rotting soul. I'm dying. My skin feels as if it's being ripped apart from the demons in which reside in the deep dark recesses of mind. They hold me as their prisoner, they want me dead. I hold my head high, I feel constant dread. Again, I plead to some universal cosmos for me to take it all back. I've hurt so many, I'm scared to admit it. I've killed my future, I'm dead. Yes, I've tried slitting my wrist, yes I've prayed to die, yes I've cursed at the wind a hundred times.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry & Short Stories
PoesiaA compilation of all my favorite poems and short stories I've written. ▪️Please give credit where credit is due. ▪️ ▪️These stories are written by me, and any similarity to any other story or poem is merely coincidental. ▪️ ➿I would truly love any s...
