It's back.
It's all coming back.
That pain. That hurt.
Everything that is deep.
Everything that is deep is a punch in the gut.
It ain't right.
Those tears stream down your face -
Yes, yours; you know how it feels.
You wish it would suddenly begin to rain as that tear flow of yours increases, but it doesn't.
The sun shines hard on you and it glazes your skin.
Thanks to that brightness, your tears are well-known, now.
Doesn't it hurt?
It does.
All you want is to go to a soft place - no long, hard, viscous pain. None at all.
But you know this can't be, and that hurts, too.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Dear Suicide...
Poesía(#12 in Poetry- 3/5/17 |14 in Poetry- 2/28/17 |23 in Poetry- 11/18/16) Have you ever considered picking up a pen and writing to the one you fear most? Well, that's what I've done. When I write to my fears, It's oddly satisfying, because I know that...
