how am i supposed to get better
when images of my death
flash behind my eyes
and they make me calm
the thought of swallowing pills
downing them with the alcohol in the fridge
and then sending those final texts
while slicing my arms in the tub
god it would be the way to go
but i cant
i cant be selfish
i have to get better
whatever better means
YOU ARE READING
The Night Talks • Vents
PoetryDisgusting and disturbing thoughts turned into try-hard poetry.
