the gentle whirring
and
incessant beeping of machinery
makes up most of the noise I hear
then there's a little voice that whispers
where am I?
is this heaven?
I struggle to open my eyes
I feel the bandages rip
as I raise my arms up to rub my eyes
oh.
and then it hits me
a wave of shame
of guilt
of anger
why.
why aren't I dead?
why can't I even kill myself
the right way?
YOU ARE READING
poems from a lonely girl
Poetry☆original poetry ☆diary entries ～editing and re uploading～ updates twice a week
