I'm sick to death of everything : this house, this room, the fact that things gets dirty, the law, just standing here.
Sometimes i swear i just wanna go to my bedroom, pull the covers over my head and never do anything ever again.
I'm taking meds and i sleep like i've never before and all i wanna do is sleep again and have another pill.
Then everything just gets swallowed up by more disgust. Im not built to be an unhappy person i like laughing i laugh like a banshee at anything.
I just sit here alone in this stupid little house wondering what the hell happened to my life. Was it all about having good grades and having the back of people that i dont even know if i like anymore ? Seriously was that the point?
I just.. I hurt. I want it over. I just want it to end.
VOUS LISEZ
Écrire pour exister
PoetryParfois tout ce qu'il nous reste c'est les mots. Notre cerveau ne nous trahira jamais et j'ai décidé d'en faire mon arme secrète. J'écris, j'écris, j'écris. Plus je pense, plus j'écris et plus j'écris plus je me sens légère. Il y a un peu de tout...
