It's as though you get addicted to a certain kind of sadness.
Not that it's literal,
But it feels that way.
It's like everything you do causes more harm than good,
Whether you have good or bad intentions.
You end up being more familiar with the feeling of heartache and pain than comfort and warmth,
So much so,
You get used to it.
It's as though I was born as an embodiment of destruction and broken youth.
It's as though I have no purpose but to break.
What am I,
If not a useless being that only carries burden.
What am I,
If not somebody dragging themselves through life,
Forever praying for the day they die.
Was I brought here just to suffer?
To be hated and despised?
Is this depressive state my destiny?
It certainly feels that way,
As though I'm addicted to being someone that everybody merely tolerates.
YOU ARE READING
Bruised
Poetry"You poisoned me with your potion, Hexed me with your love and devotion. Now I lay in pieces, broken and brittle." Bruised is a poetry collection for the broken hearts and disappointed souls. It speaks words of wisdom, words of pain, and words of ad...
