Its my Birthday,
I'm seventeen,
No more parties,
No more gifts,
No more love,
For me.
Its my day of birth,
On this earth,
I feel the crimson drown me,
My givers celebrate,
While I grief,
In my own memories,
In my own self,
In my own death.
Why celebrate?
If I'm counting down
The days Reaper will take me,
Lead me to the alley no one knows
For the wings of sparrows,
There will be blood beside the shadows.
Why feel happy?
Counting down the Days of my death
Saying things they never meant.
Hoping that my father will greet me.
Anyone? Anyone there? Someone there?
Someone?
Feel happy, they say.
Its your birthday, they say.
No one likes you, she says.
No one remembers you, she says.
No one cares about you, she says.
No one loves you. She says.
No one, she says.
Besides the pity I want,
The attention I want,
The love I want,
No one will give me that.
No one.
With such hatred in my life,
I stroke it,
Welcoming the red agony with open arms,
With every fiber in my body,
I waited,
Until I feel numb,
Welcoming the warm embrace of darkness,
I am free.
5/6/18 1:00 am. Happy birthday to me, eh? Not my best but no one cares anyway. Wrote this at 12:30, finished it at 1. Maybe I'll put the time here.
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Pieces Of Mine
PoesiePoems that are written here are by me and me only. I am not a professional poet, I just make poems when I feel artistic or I feel down. These poems are trash, don't read these. This book may contain dark topics I will put "(Trigger Waring)" in the...
