Lost
It's what you feel during a crisis,
the feeling of being so ugly
inside and out that the
only salvation
comes from your knife.
It's the urge to turn up music so loud
you can't hear your own thoughts.
It's a crumbling
of realisation in your imagination,
devastation wrecking what's left of
your soul,
a shattering of everything you know.
It is the feeling of have nothing,
no one to hold on to.
Essentially, the feeling of drowning,
dying silently in horror and hatred,
grasping at everything you can reach.
It's a
desperation.
A sort of
struggle,
like a crippling
in the very closest part of your heart.
Loss is the truth of something.
It is a reality.
It is
my
reality.
YOU ARE READING
Truly,
PoetryThis, in case you were wondering, is a collection and record of the spontaneous poems and written pieces I write, for me. I use writing to channel a large part of my emotions, and the pieces you may read are a consequence of this. The reason I share...
