Pieces of myself
Are everywhere.
In the closet,
On the ground,
In my cabinet,
On the shelves.
The fragments of my soul
And body
Lie there,
Gathering dust.
You would think
It would hurt, to have yourself torn to shreds,
But it doesn't.
At least, not for me.
I barely notice.
I barely notice as I fall apart,
As I'm ripped apart,
As I rip myself apart.
YOU ARE READING
My Poems - 2018
PoetryNo one has to read this. It's not interesting. I don't really think the poems will be very good, either. (NOT EDITED OR CHECKED FOR ANY GRAMMATICAL ERRORS.)
