Lying in my bed,
where the covers hide the dead,
that circulate my head,
that stops what must be said.
I try to let it end,
my brain must start to mend,
but help you should send,
because I cant pretend.
Try to make it out alive,
push myself to survive,
my future is my only drive,
so headfirst is how I'll dive.
I want to stop just seeing,
and start to become being,
that would feel so freeing,
until the blood starts seeping.
YOU ARE READING
This book has no name. (Poetry)
PoetryI am not a poet, as you can see, but yeah, here are some poems I have written. Some are a bit depressing I know, but what's more depressing is the fact I can't write a decent poem, am I right? P.S they aren't all about me, okay. Some are, some are...
