If I were to be sitting right in front of myself
At a dark brown pine table, in a sturdy wooden chair
She has her hair tied up, with no expression
I would look myself in the face and fold my hands, sighing
Looking down, shaking my head with disappointment
"Why are you so destructive to yourself?"
Her face weary and as she licks her dry lips
Putting out that cigarette, she does."I'm looking for answers."Not the way I want I say, so she cries.
YOU ARE READING
Her and her head
Non-FictionThese poems represent how I feel when I get into these intense moods, expressing my mental disorders in a new perspective for others not to feel so alone.
