Written May 16, 2019 3:16 am
A desolate expanse of one's mind can be a trap.
After all, an idle mind is the devil's workshop.
My grandmother still says this.
Deep into the abyss, I have fallen
With no sure escape. Save me.
Fighting may be futile, but I attack with no regard.
It's hard and I'm lacerated
With deep scars.
The exit is almost too far away.
This is my last prayer.
Forever.
YOU ARE READING
Survivor's Remorse
PoetrySurvivor's Remorse is a personal collection of poetry, songs, lyrics, prose, and more that ranges from the early 2000s through 2023 when I finally decided to start a new poetry book! Thank you immensely to anyone who has taken time to read this book...
