I once felt this desire,
To tear my heart,
Force it out of me,
For it made me feel.
Too many feelings,
Tangled, raw.
Or too much numbness,
It felt empty, dark.
And now,
My mind,
It feels the same.
Bursting with a milkion thoughts,
A tangled mess, like a ball of thread.
Unable to be sorted out, much too hard
to make sense of. Far too confusing.
And now I wonder, What else I'll
want to tear apart.
And if I really do tear apart everything,
What part of me,
Will be left to keep?
YOU ARE READING
The Ink Spilling From My Pen ✔
Poetry* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * The ink that spilled out of my pen formed these poetry. * ** * * * * * * * * * * ** ** * * ** * * ** * ** ** *** ** * * ** * * ** A random poetry collection that spill...
