I'm the record covered in dust
My fragile body has scratches and cuts all over
When you play me
The words you get are
Wails of sorry and my fault
Repeating over and over again
And each time you play me
You Chipp away at my fragile frame
Causing the sounds to be more frequent and more beautiful to your craving ears
YOU ARE READING
My butterflys
PoetryThis is an inlook on a life with depression, anxiety, and being a teen.
