I'm bored, like you! And this is why i write poemes that suck ass like i do. Passing time with depressing thoughts, slitting my rist for fun, this sadness can never be done. How do I cope? i really don't know and no one knows how to deal with these lies, the lies i tell to cover up the fact that I'm dieing inside. Do I really feel pain or is this it just a fucking game? It's not fun, thinking i've died inside but really I was never alive. This fake smile aways seems to make people forget what I'm filled with, darkness and insanity. what I feel isn't humane, I'll never be the same...
YOU ARE READING
pastel okisuko. I Try My Hardest...
Poetrythese are poems about what i go through in my everyday life. some my not make sense that's just how I am... I make no sense. have fun reading
