Recovery
- Reads 91
- Votes 14
- Parts 4
Ongoing<5 mins
Last published Mon, Aug 12, 2019
When I came out of that house
To greet a world I had never seen before
I hid from my story
And become obsessed with pain
I tried to shove my story back inside myself
As if over time it would dissolve into nothing
Or crawl back down to that basement
Where it came from
Instead it ate me alive from the inside out
So here's my story for the final time
Maybe i will finally be able to put this beast
To rest.
All Rights Reserved
#512
recovery
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I've cried too hard for too long as I debated death. Over and over, all I wanted was a quick overdose, a quick way to escape the pain. Until the guilt set it and made me realise, suicide feels too selfish. Instead I turned my sadness into art and my pain into strength. Desperately wanting to carve up my skin, I bled on a page. My screams are silent, hidden behind closed doors, And computer screens. All these horrible emotions kept secret in notebooks. I'm too afraid to speak about it, so I write it down That's how my poetry is made. ~The birth of poetry -Me ____ First place in 2021 Irenic Awards poetry catergory Highest rankings: #16 original work #2 relapsing
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