the weight of my headache
suggests it's friday; but it's not,
and it never is in this wasteland.
my body screams for anything
to stop the cold rainy days from
seeping down into my chest.
i rattle and shake like
the broken part i am,
bolts fly off my hinges
and i give up, yet again.
perhaps describing me as a
deteriorating, hellbent crybaby
would be too kind.
i reckon i'm the worst you'll
ever meet, and the best
you'll always regret.
this never ending cycle of
falling down is just my life;
don't pity me for what i do
to myself when you're not around.
i walk streets that were made
for people like me: the insane
over thinkers, the worst liars,
and the best nothings.
next time you drive past me,
don't stop and roll down your window.
don't look in my direction, and
absolutely do not look into my eyes
ever, ever again.
ill romanticize the idea of you,
and you'll be my little fantasy;
my mind will conduct a symphony
of obsession, wired by drive to make sure
you never forget me.
maybe one day you'll allow me in,
and i'll accept without hesitation:
we can pour our thoughts out all
over the street, and i'll kiss you
because i can't help but wonder if
you taste like anything i've dreamt.
you can pity me, and i'll let you.
pity me softly, pity me kindly.
just don't talk to the remnants
of my pride, they're shy these days.
the glow of streetlights make
me look like such a wreck, but
the night doesn't lie like i do.
YOU ARE READING
i still wait for you.
Poetrypoems and writings for the broken. previously, "i will wait for you until the very end" cover credits to baybiwillow TW if you or a loved one is experiencing suicidal thoughts, please call or text (or have them call or text) the National Suicide P...
