It's spreading,
The holes,
And no one's finding,
That it controls.
Bullet wounds grow bigger,
Picking apart the issue with fingers,
My breathing is the trigger,
As the daze lingers,
And my skin is falling apart,
My lips bitten and dark,
As my mind doesn't know how to end but will still start,
And my body flinches at a bark.
Ratty and disheveled,
Hair matted and oily,
The body sinking gets the water leveled,
As paper thin flesh tears like a doily.
No tears but anxiety,
Runs through my veins,
Causing my hands to be free,
And create pink trains.
It's not pretty,
But helps to cope.
It's not in any way witty,
But it's better than dope.
I'm not harming,
Or cutting or burning or more.
You can't cause a disarming,
Because the weapons can't be bought from store.
Bullets driving deeper,
Helping myself with destruction.
Am I a keeper?
If not, lead me off the path of obstruction.
YOU ARE READING
Thoughtful Rhymes
PoetryThis is a book of poems made from my imagination and passions. I hope some of you can enjoy the passions and ideas that have birthed themselves onto paper and were transcribed here. Enjoy! Bye Bye! Highest ranking: 964 #27 on #pray #35 on #think
