The Baby Cries in Black and White (journal + poetry)

Highs

The highs have come to an end
Here she lies
Unhappy but doesn't particularly know why
Why when life is so unsatisfying
It wanes in comparison to the fiction or dramatically glamorized
My body aches for a life never promised
An unrealistic wanting for the significance
I feel it in the pit of my stomach
There's nothing poetic about how much I fucking hate myself
And while there is good
It all crashes down
Once in a while
When those highs go sour
Much like this hour
I just can't take it.