Each time I want to die,
I regret my life choices
and normally, each time, break down and cry
at the noises, the noises the demons make, the damn voices
the smiles they get from my head, I try not to give in,
shout all I can until I can't stand it, until I am staring in the mirror
my thoughts have been killing me, slowly silently, I realize what's within
and how much I hate living, how much I wish I was a kid a again, how afraid I am of a holy terror
a demon, god damn I thought I was athesist until now, now I realize there is at least a hell
god damn does that ring a bell, kind of feels like déjà vu, now I remember where this demon is from
that nightmare from fourth grade it was no nighmare, but the future, was it? Maybe I should dwell
a bit longer to hopefully conjure my younger-self, then maybe I succumb to what I must become
but what am I to become? AmI to be what I've always wanted to be? A tortured daunted poet
I am unsure, but drastically becoming mature, and as I become mature I am left unspoken
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Depressing Rounds
PoesíaWell as it seems life is a terrible burden yet it also is a great present. In Depressing Rounds I tried to encap life moments (good and... mostly bad) into a series of poems. When I first started writing this I intended to just make a series of Depr...
