Written 12/31/18
To pretend I'm not broken,
to pretend that I'm okay.
September has come and gone,
I think about it every day.
I chamber a bullet,
I sharpen the blade.
I wonder how you did it,
why you couldn't stay.
Teach me your method.
I'll study your tricks.
The grave is where I'm headed.
The cylinder spins and clicks.
v.e.s.
YOU ARE READING
Cardboard Lungs
Poetry"Demons floating in my morning cereal." "Ink isn't the only thing bleeding tonight." A collection of my poetry. *I do not promote self harm or any other negative coping skills. My poetry is my outlet for preventing those actions in my own life, so I...
