sometimes i feel
like a girl made of match sticks
like i'll burst in to flames
that i'll burn down the house
at the slightest pressure
and then i remember
that i am already burning
that this stupid house was already ash
that i have already crumpled under the weight
that i'm breathing in smoke not air
and i stop holding it in
i stop trying to put out the fire
because there's no point
in protecting what's already dead
in salvaging debris
in trying to stop matchsticks
from catching on fire
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ČTEŠ
wilting roses
PoezieAnother collection of (bad) poems. *tw: mentions of sexual assault, drug use, drinking, suicidal ideation and self harm* -a collection of poems that document my experiences with my mental health throughout high school. a warning: i had a few undiagn...