As i push open the metallic gate restricting me from going on the terrace, i can already feel my fingers shake and heart beating louder and murmuring in my ears. It's dark outside, the night is filled with noise, from the birds, the trees and our neighbors. The floor underneath my feet, feels dirty and harsh, covered in old paint. My hood is over my head, hopelessly there trying to stop the smoke from reaching my hair. I shakily take out a death stick of its pack, put between my lips and light it as i inhale the toxic smoke. My throat burns and i try to tell myself that I'm not addicted, that this is just a one time thing. But i know it's not. As i exhale the grey smoke out of my nose and mouth, i cannot help but wonder what is wrong with me. This weird and numbing feeling that I've helplessly been looking for, finally washes over me and i am left alone, numb and smelly.
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everyday struggles of a fifteen-year-old
Poesietrash can in which i will be throwing my feelings. This is a safe place and environment for everyone no matter what. You cannot judge me, just like i cannot judge you. My feelings are mine, and the way i react to things is up to my spirit and mysel...
