I haven't been feeling good lately. My hands are trembling with anger and insecurities I've only dreamed in my deepest nightmares. My passions have been ridden of their days as the blood sweat and tears became nothing but lies. I've been told many things in my life that'd make a grown man cry. I cry. I lay down at night and think deep thoughts that I can't share amongst anyone, if I do I'd look like a coward or a psycho. I've cut myself many times in my life, not as much as most people and not as big. I never wanted to die I just wanted to feel something other than what I was used to feeling. My marks didn't stay marked, they faded away like everyone who've I ever loved. That'll never change, I'll always find myself crawling out of my holes that I steadily, and gradually shovel for myself. I'll always feel deep lows and that's not something I'll be able to change anytime soon.
YOU ARE READING
Letters To The Writer: Volume 1
PoetryJust me writing poems, can be sad, can be happy, matters about he day and what I'm writing about. This is really for me but if you like it a share, vote, comment would be much appreciated, thank you.
