So Tired
I'm tired of crying.
I'm tired of overthinking.
I'm tired of breathing.
I'm so tired of pretending.
I'm holding a sharp blade,
enough to cut my wrist
and make it bleed nonstop.
In the count of three, it will.
I'm holding a rope.
I'm ready to hang myself.
In the count of three,
I'm already hanging and unable to breathe.
Who would going to miss me?
No one for I'm left alone.
No one dared to help me
instead they mocked me.
Now that I'm gone, forever gone.
Who would going to find me?
For my last seconds,
I only have myself with me.
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YOU ARE READING
Fiction And Reality Blends | Book Of Poetry
PoesiePoems are written because of experiences and imaginations where knowledge and feelings unites. -BlueCryztalz The words used maybe simple but they create a deeper meaning when combined. Why did I wrote these poems? For what? Maybe to inspire others...
