empty skies and
made up lies
about how good i really feel.
glitter dusts my hands
but my heart just...
feels so dull and
my stomach so empty
in hope that it just might grow small
finger tips, once like pens but,
now with no ink
beg to create something,
yet know they cannot. and
i just cant seem to think straight
when all i can think of is
a dry, lifeless life.
YOU ARE READING
poetic
Poetryim not very good at poetry, but my goal is to write it until I am. and then after im good at it ill write more poetry because then I'll enjoy doing it
