Smoke fills my lungs like water,
I feel like I'm drowning in life.
Like I'm losing.
I tried not to lose myself,
but I'm too weak to be strong enough to do that.
I just drink and drown and lose,
and I die,
but I act like a toddler who thinks she can do everything
and that she knows everything,
but then she can't tie her own shoelaves.
She's weak.
I'm her.
YOU ARE READING
poet's not dead
Poetrypoetry written by an anarchist, teenage, lonely girl obsessed with music, books and history. i try to add life into words, mix body, mind and soul into a one thing. because that's what we are. humans. ENGLISH'S NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE, SORRY!!
