i lie in my own graves i've dug
and somehow i know i'll be the death of me
forgetting things i was sure i'd known
like ripped pages out of books
or songs stopped halfway
and the screaming voices
in my mind
are getting too loud
so while i lie here each night
i can't quite hear anything else
and i contemplate heading home
to the deathbeds i created
and i contemplate the end
because the next pages are ripped out
and i forgot how the song is supposed to go
YOU ARE READING
-𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝.
Poetrya collection of poems based around mental illness. = this book may contain images that trigger specific individuals. please read the content warnings and keep yourself safe! = " pounds dropping, rain drops of relapse, recovery is a journey but smal...
