h.w.
an old poem
ill stop and comprehend
that this is as bad as it's going to get
ill start distinctively asking myself to stay quiet and watch as the anathema unfolds
because i execerbate each tragedy and i lack a virgin mind
my heads so filled with the knowledge that rips me up inside
i embitter every moment
that burns my sorrow eyes
wrote a poem about honesty
thats mostly filled with lies
because i cannot reach my thoughts
or the words begging to be written
telling people the truth
they find it hard to listen
the truth is, i haven't slept in nearly a week
my voice comes out in whispers that shakes when i speak
battling a war with myself
and keeping up a fight
locked my door to my bedroom
so i wasn't found awake every night
and if i knew to move on
and if these thoughts would steep
id be able to start living again
and my desperate mind would sleep.
