̶ ̶ xxiii. I'M NOT OKAY, IT'S NOT ALRIGHT.
i lay bedridden with depression holding my limbs down,
my old self staring at me from my shadow, and i cry myself to sleep.an addictive cycle with no intervention,
yet considering the doctor said i was fine,
then i should be,
shouldn't i?at least that's what my parents believe.
YOU ARE READING
soon.
Poetryxvi, april. (i). cotton mouth with a heavy heart. © playlist poetry h.r. : #47