Happy birthday to me,
I guess.
I didn't think I'd make
It this long.
I thought I'd be
A box of bones
Six feet under by now.
Why haven't I gone yet?
Is there a reason to be here?
A reason to live
Another year of pain?
I don't know the answer
Anymore.
Everything is clouded in my
Head like a mirror
Covered in soap.
I need a drink.
M.R
72 words
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𝙋𝙝𝙤𝙩𝙤𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙥𝙝𝙨
Poesía1:48 am "And with every drop of rain that hits the earth, I can hear your soulful voice echoing through my mind. Calm whispers of the wind, crashing along the sea, calming my every nerve. You are the air in my lungs and the words I speak. You are my...
