I wear nothing but the hot reds oranges and yellows
Of the sun.
I look like lit cigarettes,
Burning house's
And melted flesh.
I want nothing more to stop being taken advantage of, stop being used and left behind to suffocate, under my own guilt and shame.
I think like fire,
But I'm not old enough to
Have thoughts of this size.
Because I'm just a child
A child of fire.
Nothing more,
Always less.
Im not worth respecting
Not worth listening to,
Not worth much at all.
But you might want to watch your back around me.
I might burn you.
YOU ARE READING
suicidio
PoetryTRIGGER WARNING!!! A poetic take on teen suicide, depression and eating disorders, written by a disordered kid.
