Poetry is not dead.
It's simply all in you're head.
You cry out at night screaming words of pain creating words
that sink deep within your brain,
Smacking yourself pulling out your hair as it takes away the pain
Thou should not dread within
Reach of your shame
Pick up that blade
And become
Lost again.
YOU ARE READING
Loud Pøetry Spilled From The Quiet Soul
PoetryAll of these are mine. Not the Internet. Trigger warning. (Self mutilation, depression, anorexia, etc....) And my apologies if they aren't even slow to Bukowski or Anything....I just wanted to try
