and he sings the three words over and over
he sobs them like a prayer for a dead man in his arms
he screams them like he's falling and they're the arm that reaches out to catch him
he breathes them like the last drop of water in a sand-ridden desert, chasing away the dry coughs in his lungs
he barks them like there's a blindness that shrouds his very being and they'll pry his eyes open
he wails them. a cry out for help, a pathetic way to convey his overwhelming desperation.
i hate myself
YOU ARE READING
Open To Interpretation
PoetryThis is a collection of some of my old poems, short stories, and other writing that I created a few years ago, while I was going through a really rough patch in my life. I wanted to publish it back then, but this is the best that I can do for now. E...
