I think the most tragic
part about my life
is not the terrible things
I've witnessed and been out through,
or the mental illness
that controlled my life.
Instead, I think that it's that
no one seems to care.
At least, not forever.
They get bored of me
and they don't even know
the "tragedies" in my life.
They simply get tired
of always seeing a bright smile,
they don't realize it's for them.
So I can spare them
of the things nobody should witness.
They still don't care.
I'm fun for a while.
But they always end up leaving.
YOU ARE READING
Maybe Mondegreen
Poetry"Her night was wasted away on people who live in the day" Free verse, word spill. Poems from a teenage girl about heartbreak, love, sadness, and hope. [[COMPLETED]]
