Once I wrote a story, it took a lot of time but it soon passed.
Slipping through my fingers were words for the broken glass I once trod along.
I wrote in red ink.
Red ink to show me running and screaming,
red ink to pass the time that was slowly killing me,
red ink to represent regret, red ink to show every aspect
of a chapter that never ends.
Constant rhythm in my words, to show that the mess only became worse.
YOU ARE READING
Chemicals
PoetryThere are thoughts in my head laced with chemicals and dread i'll write them all down word for word, in a series of rhymes this way I wont crash and burn. (Trigger Warning)