Sometimes I hate myself for missing you.
I didn't sign up for repeated heartbreak.
Never ending like a ticking clock.
When it never stops hitting.
When I can't scream loud enough.
When my heart doesn't break hard enough.
When cuts aren't deep enough.
When
NOTHING
Is
ENOUGH.
YOU ARE READING
Noyadé
PoesíaA series of small works: finished works and unfinished scraps and sober thoughts and inebriated words and drunk minds and me. All of me in here.
