I'm tired, tired of people screaming out their pain,
I'm tired, tired of trying to help the people that don't need it
Tire of playing the same way to the same game,
The same shame should make you insane,
But no you just do it because it's how you're feeding, chewing into my soul like your teething.
I'm constantly on a feeling, I don't want to believe it, my demons are like behemoths, my friends are my strengths even if I'm a fucking weakling, why am I even speaking.
The day of where I feel the rain is because, it's hail acting in all presence all tame but really... im a car on a highway, changing directions and switching lanes, I'm a lion without my mane, my roar isn't as righteous for I have no brain, for I am so very lame, for I am a grain, for I make myself the needle in the hay, but just like a needle im capable of inflicting pain, what am I even saying, it's clear I'm just not the same.
YOU ARE READING
Letters To The Writer: Volume 1
PoetryJust me writing poems, can be sad, can be happy, matters about he day and what I'm writing about. This is really for me but if you like it a share, vote, comment would be much appreciated, thank you.
