She was a story just begging to be told
She was a book put on a shelf
Because no one had the interest
Of reading her;
She was so young when she felt
Like her life was a living hell
Like her one chance
Was never checked out
At the teller;
She had dreams but did not fulfill them
She was sad hoping for
A good reader
So she could turn the next page;
As dust piled on her heart
She started sinking
Into something darkly wrong
Depression became her she became
depression two worlds colliding into one like a tornado colliding into a abandoned barn;
She felt forgotten like no one was there
She wanted to yell but no one
was close enough to hear,
Her life was a constant drama
No longer did she believe in karma
As if everything she did was wrong
Praying for a constant Love song;
Tried to kill herself in grade 10
A tidal wave of anti-depressants
And a common nickname called Popper
She stopped dreaming, stopped believing
Heart throbbing. eyes watering,
Wrists bleeding, head pounding
Hope falling and then she was gone
No one noticed so she accepted the fact that she was forgotten.
YOU ARE READING
My world.
PoetryStory's. They can only express so much. So I write poetry. This book is filled with depressing, joyful, letting go poems. And they are all written by me ☁️
