Is it the nicotine I feel?
Or are these feelings real?
Are my lungs collapsing from the smoke
Or is my body weak from the loss of hope?
Are my eyes bloodshot from this pipe?
Or are they red from crying about this life
That I seem to live in such a wrong way
I can almost feel my body decay
As I waste it's hours with sugar and smoke
Hide from the world while your head's filled with dope
It truly hurts to feel like you don't belong
Although I can't help anyone, I simply say things wrong
So if I am not useful to this place
Then why not spend my hours with a pillow over my face?
YOU ARE READING
phosphenes
PoetryA collection of poems about mental health, identity and love. TW AND CW FOR POSSIBLY TRIGGERING TOPICS.
