"Coping"
I turn the thought of suicide around in my head.
"I want to be dead," I say to myself.
I drink to forget all the troubles.
I cut to feel something, to cope with the struggles.
I can't handle this anymore.
I sit with a gun in my hand,
Trying not to pull the fucking trigger.
My troubles just seem to get bigger.
I've lost all my friends, and my family hates me.
Everyone would be better off without me.
I try to hold on, for the people who I feel care.
But now I've reached a breaking point and I can't handle this anymore.
Good riddance, assholes.
I'll see you six feet under.
YOU ARE READING
My Shitty Poetry, That is the Inside of My Mind
PoetryHi, I'm the socially anxious, depressed, fucked up girl in the back of the class. This is a look into the inside of my brain. The depths of the depression and anxiety. I'll be using the art of poetry. Please enjoy. ***Some poems are older, but will...
