I hate hearing the same thing over and over again.
"It gets better" they all say,
whether or not they've experienced the monster who takes your hand in such a genuine manner.
The monster who'd take its coat off and put it over your shoulders when you're cold.
The monster you'd genuinely wonder if its truly a monster until it takes you back to your place, invites itself in, then pry its way into your soul and mind, slowly eating away until there is nothing left to consume.
So no, don't tell me it gets better.
It won't get better until I no long feel comfort with that monster.
Until its absence won't make me feel empty any longer.
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts In The Dark
Poetry"I'm lost in an abyss of meaningless words I give too much meaning." "Thoughts In The Dark" is a book of things I randomly think about, usually at night, and I'm able to write down better than verbally explain. Consist of poems short and long with n...
