She wore a smile like a loaded gun
Filled with the ammunition of
Eight years of suicidal ideation but
Never did anything about it when
Forged from fear of isolation
Never crossed her mind that
Loaded guns aren't for little girls
With life and death in her hands
And the tears telling her that
She can't always be smiling
When the end of the day shows
She is still entirely alone
With only end as an escape
From the rapid deterioration of
Some kind of new reality
If it's nonexistence, heaven, or hell
She'd take them all over this
"Take care of me," she says,
As the metal hits her teeth
The fire in her eyes fluttered, dimmed
But I swear that I could see her smile.
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The Poetry Collection [Editing]
PoetryA soulful recollection and philosophies on life from a young, femme, punk poet. Poems ranging from when I was still in school, moving out, exploring the world for the first time, moving through the years, until now, being an independent artist and b...
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