How many poems has it been but I can't get you out of my mouth
Something
Something keeps pushing me to relive that moment, the time when my hands wouldn't move and time skipped to my funeral.
I never seem to run out of ink, or paper, or insanity because this whole thing is insane!
I need you be angry, I need you to scream at my face tell me that you hate me and you wish I was dead. Tell me that you'd fucking cut me up and drain my blood this is what I want
I want to bleed, I want to feel the hotness of pain and sadness mix because this doesn't work for me, I need feel anger well up to my fucking eyeballs and explode.
YOU ARE READING
Not Quite, Midnight | poems
Poetry~she sets out to write for herself but casts a line from her ship of lunatics in case there was someone adrift trying to read along.
