Her chest felt like it was on fire but the room was only fifty-FIVE degrees. The cold tingling on her fingers and toes reminded her body how to not feel utterly numb.
Her hair was in knots from the sleepy and restless nights. It had was just FOUR days ago that she had last touched a brush.
THREE innocent tears roll down her cheeks. One for each boy that has broken her heart.
On her nightstand, TWO empty bottles lay carelessly. Just a couple minutes ago they carried multiple little white killers.
At ONE in the morning, she stopped checking for a pulse, didn't try finding a heartbeat. For these things only meant she was still functioning, but not alive.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
Poetry"I know that sometimes for people, I feel like too much; But let me kiss away the phantom pain that the scars remind you of, Let me kiss the burns on your hands, From when you touched the burning fire within my soul. Let me show you that yes, I am...
