I know this is just a class room
but the moment you walked in
it turned into something else.
Everyone else disappeared
—turned to ash—
and all there was was you
—a demon—
with those eyes
—your unholy eyes—
and that stare
—that demonic look—
you stretch out a hand
—a claw—
and drop a letter on my desk.
I would like you to read this
you ask
—demand—
I don't read it.
YOU ARE READING
wilting roses
PoetryAnother collection of (bad) poems. *tw: mentions of sexual assault, drug use, drinking, suicidal ideation and self harm* -a collection of poems that document my experiences with my mental health throughout high school. a warning: i had a few undiagn...
