I lay here writing my heart out, remembering my past.
Each word and rotten memory, reopening my casts.
Suddenly I'm all but dumbstruck;
Just when it seems I'm out of luck,
That question racking my brain night and day
always had an answer anyways.
"Does it ever get easier again?"
I struggled for an answer, within these mental psalms.
It doesn't get easier, just a routine to deal with.
It doest get easier, just a little more bearable.
Just a little less traumatizing.
But with one question answered, there's another one asked.
"Will I ever get better?"
I won't get better,
just used to cringing looking in the mirror.
I won't get better,
It just gets harder to live with myself.
I won't get better,
only less like me.
YOU ARE READING
Words From a Broken Soul
PoetryThis is stuff I wrote when I had deep moments of depression, inspiration, pain, and what I wrote to keep myself from relapsing. This is an inside look to my inner-self. Enjoy it and make sure to leave me feedback!
