Even if I tell myself
a hundred thousand times
to not linger on corrupted thoughts,
Even if I whisper repeatedly
don't, don't, don't,
there are times
I still freeze up and shatter.
I don't know what i'm fighting for anymore,
Who do I call?
Who will hear?
Who will listen?
Who will listen to the onslaught
of everything and nothing,
(that I have bottled up all these years)
that will come out of my lips?
Who will be willing
to know how much I've cried,
to know how much I've suffered,
to know how much I was ignored,
and still smile in the end?
No one.
No one will.
No one will be willing
to carry the weight, the burden.
No one is willing to walk
and be cut by
shattered
pieces
of people.
YOU ARE READING
Memento Mori || Poetry
Poesía[ remember death ] Previously titled Buried in the Ashes.
