that little monster is coming back
crawling slowly on my back
gotta hurry, return back
'til my mind turns pitch black
'til it reaches both my shoulders
or is it already in my head?
i feel sick, about to vomit
tinnitus sings like a hermit
my limbs are cold
my skin's dreaded
you just know it's getting bad
abandoning sleep, exploiting art, hiding the pain
telling myself i'm just lame
just because i no longer want to die
but i wouldn't mind, not gonna lie
YOU ARE READING
tales of the mentally disordered
Poesie'it's cold, dark and lonely but it's home' . . . . . . A very random collection of poems
