I think I'll slit my wrists again.
The gin bottle is my only friend.
I'm hanging off the edge once more.
What do I have to live for?
The pain I feel is too great.
My heart and soul are consumed by hate.
The pill bottle is my only friend.
I think I'll slit my wrists again.
YOU ARE READING
A book of poetry
PoetryThis is a bunch of poetry I either wrote or found. The ones with an asterisk (*) in the title are the ones I wrote. Any others I found. Please no stealing the ones I wrote and please don't criticize them too harshly. I did my best on them.
