Don't upset me, fool.
I'll bring out my tool.
A gun that'll get you scared,
A knife that'll make you wish you cared,
I've lost my mind loving you,
I wish your love was true,
Maybe I'll feel guilt in a couple years,
Perhaps I'll even shed a couple tears.
You'll be gone very soon,
I'll remember you when I look at the moon
When it shines so bright
And reminds me of that night,
When I had your blood on my hand.
Our love will lay in the dirt,
Or maybe you'll lie there instead.
Buried deep underground,
Not making a single sound.
Don't feel special, lover
You're not the first blur.
I've lost my mind before,
I hope your mom doesn't knock on my door,
Asking where her beloved son went,
I'll tell her that you left,
I'll lie and say I wept,
'How and when' she'll say,
I'm not sure- I'll deny.
What a sad fate.
YOU ARE READING
Emotional Torture.
PoésieCollection of poems and pieces written about daily struggles and tackling big world problems from the eyes of a teenager. Warning: Some chapters might be triggering. Triggers include: Suicide Eating disorder Self harm
