What if all I'd ever wanted was to be asked if I was okay before it got too late?
What if all I'd ever needed was a little acknowledgement?
What if you saw between the lines, the red rimmed eyes screaming to be seen, the cracked voices begging to be heard, the lungs gasping for air, the silhouette giving up on everything?
Would it hurt to return the level of intimacy I provide in the friendship, even if it seems fake to my own eyes?
How difficult is it to ask if I was okay?
YOU ARE READING
Final Throes Of The Unfurling
Poetry"I strived to rise but every rise has a fall, I quit, I quit and that's all." Just a bunch of emotions sucked by the pen and bled on the pages. Can be seen in the dried marks on the pillow, Dark hollows of rapidly blinking eyes, And the corners of...
