Sweats forming around my forehead
My wrists are cut and I'm not dead
I try to fix the cuts but I'm stuck in bed.
The paranoia still filling my soul
Looks like Santa is giving me coal
I'm tired of being this fucking mole.
I could cry another million tears
But to be fair I don't think I'll last anymore years
And the machine in my body has lost its final gears.
I'd rather lose everyone than feel more
I'm tired of seeing them leave so I'm locking the door
The emptiness in my heart is leaving me sore.
Sometimes I feel like I'm just a plaything
Speak my name and let my ears ring
Kill me so the choir can finally sing.
Toy with my emotions and whatever I could feel
Nothing in this world will ever be real
Neither of my scars will ultimately heal.
Listen, I'm tired of speaking behind your back
Especially when I can see how you crack
And how the emotions in your words start to lack.
But see I'm not so vicious to be blinded by anger
Neither am I so calm not to be called a hanger
Suicide aside I wonder who laid her.
A question ringing to true
Yet no one else to blame but you
Or that fucked up troll beside you.
Whatever it's 5 in the fucking morning again
I just wonder when
It'll be my time again.
YOU ARE READING
Dreams Over Reality
PoetryA compliation of poems and skits. The skits are no longer being continued. Most poems are about me and the events around me. Read my story This is my story.
