Isn't it sad-
That every time a plane goes overhead
I fear for my life that it could be a bomb
That every time I hear a sudden noise
I believe someone is shooting or breaking in
That every time I see someone with baggy clothes
I assume they are hiding a weapon
Isn't it sad that
I have grown up in a world that made me this way.
YOU ARE READING
A Crowded Crying Mind
PoetryA book of poems about about anxiety, obsessive compulsive disorder, and losing people.
