I know 4 am like I know the back of my hand,
Maybe even better.
I know the quiet, the silence so loud,
I know the darkness about to give way for the break of dawn.
I know the tears dried out on my cheeks,
Two streaks of salty dryness, itching on my skin.
I know my body trembling from the assault of my own damn mind.
I know my brain trying to reign in the anger.
Or is it the feeling of worthlessness?
I know my hands digging into my thighs,
I know my lips bleeding from the crescent marks of my teeth.
I know my insecurities closing in on me like the tide, after a relevantly calm day.
My heart not able to take the insistent beating and pounding.
I know my muffled sobs and the swallowed screams like I know the lyrics to my favorite Linkin Park songs,
Maybe even better.
YOU ARE READING
The word spill of a messed up mind.
PoetryAs the title suggests, its basically just a bunch of poems or snippets that pop up in my head. ❤ You are that best selling poetry I never got to write, but could only read and fall in love in love with. ❤
