She sits there in sombre thought, wondering where she went wrong. She's frustrated. The memories ache, the dull pain slowly consuming her, making itself more prominent to her already numb state of mind. She wants to run, run away from her, the memories, her feelings, her mind, herself.
'When will this be over?' She says to no-one.
That's how it always ended. Being alone, talking to yourself, speaking out and hoping, praying, begging for anyone out there to listen.
But alas, her words fall into the atmosphere, disappearing into fragments of broken whispers.
Wasted oxygen.
At the end of the day, you can only truly rely on yourself.
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YOU ARE READING
-Book of Secrets-
Poetryusing this as a journal and dumping my thoughts in here. kinda depressing. I wanted them to be seen because I know someone out there feels the same. feel free to vent in the comments. personally I like when I feel understood by strangers, makes me...
