How can I ever be whole,
Again?
But I can't,
Can I?
Wounds don't heal,
They scar,
With red angry lines,
Slashed along your skin,
Constant reminders,
It's a battle you cannot win,
This ever-present war,
Of pain,
Of life,
Of death.
Of broken people
With broken hearts.
I am shattered.
Broken.
Withered.
YOU ARE READING
Wither
PoetryFrustration, Anger, Pain, And sadness, We're all dying from the m a d n e s s . -Our Generation, Wither --- This is my voice to the world.
