Every time I see your face
My heart will pinch and begin to race
And Iong for you to speak with grace
God, I want to leave this place
It hurts to feel, it hurts to speak
My hands are cold and my mind is weak
Go ahead, make your words seem bleak
But don't be surprised if I'm dead by next week
Technically it was never your fault
When I tried to make my life come to a halt
Yet the way you spoke and acted near me
Made me feel as if I wanted to be buried
And I finally stood up, standing tall
I spoke of the lies that took quite a toll
On this body who felt like nobody at all
YOU ARE READING
phosphenes
PoetryA collection of poems about mental health, identity and love. TW AND CW FOR POSSIBLY TRIGGERING TOPICS.
