9 Feb 2015
My black painted toenails contrast from the white tiles and the blood trickling into them.
I feel sick and tears stream down my face.
One problem after the other.
One person after the other.
It's a huge blur of two faced, backstabbing, untrustworthy loyalties.
My wrists burn and so do my insides.
It hurts to know I'll always be a disappointment.
Why?
Black, white and red is all I see.
Black of my soul, white like the last living sight I'll see and red of the blood that will bring me to it,
I want to go.
I'm exhausted and I'm ready.
Just take me already.
YOU ARE READING
The recollection of my misunderstood thoughts.
PoetryLife's a struggle and it's hard. There's nothing you can do. Just get trough it. I hate my life. There's nothing new. But when the sun is out and the sky is void of clouds you can't help but feel a smile is overdue
