its been so long dear,
what happened to that lovely boy you were with?
Did he leave?
Did he die?
Or did you?
Or did I?
Inside I am nothing,
my heart is empty as is my mind.
I sell my body for drugs and money,
because they make me feel.
I wish I could say I am the same,
but after barely a year,
dear,
I am not.
Thighs are littered with lines,
and so are my sides.
The streets are littered with my tears and dirt.
I'm 17, and I'm dying.
So how about it?
Wanna ride?
YOU ARE READING
Secretly Thinking
PoetryI've often times written songs on how I feel. Instead of that, here are poems of my secret feelings. ~ Humans are broken as am I. I can do nothing without my peers overlooking. it's a pain, to be this way. But humans are broken and waiting...
