The pain and misery of my reality is unbearable at times especially when your own blood gives up on you because they cannot understand your pain.
The fact that your belongings became garbage makes you feel like not even being alive.
Your heart drops continuously and tears appear when you're alone ,
in the midst of a repressed memory. Having no control of that pain because it is always there...
Thoughts of your controlled pain seeps in with the image of fire and a knife.
So much outter when I can control it, put more painful when there is no control.
The controlled leaves visual marks , so what is worse?
YOU ARE READING
My Tongue Is A Pen Of A Ready Writer
PoetryHere are a collection of poetry I have written within my teenage years, early adult life . I hope you all enjoy.
