23 Jan 2015
Every knock at the door is the police.
Your mum lies to them.
Making you seems like a horrible daughter.
There's no point in trying.
I want it to get better.
I'm sure it will but right now I'm in a hole I can't scrape out of.
I grab a rope to pull myself out of the muddy floor of the hole.
It works for a while until the person pulling you out gives up and tosses the rope in.
What makes it worse is when you get upset they throw dirt in too.
Don't tempt me with a rope if it's not strong enough to pull me out.
I'd rather die suffocating alone in my own hell.
The only person who has ever cared about me and the only person who will will die is me because nobody else gives a fuck.
They'll only throw in ropes and shovel out the mud when you give up.
I'm going to scrape my way out.
Make it to the too without anyone or die trying.
YOU ARE READING
The recollection of my misunderstood thoughts.
PoetryLife's a struggle and it's hard. There's nothing you can do. Just get trough it. I hate my life. There's nothing new. But when the sun is out and the sky is void of clouds you can't help but feel a smile is overdue
