I'm in so much pain.
As I sit in the frozen rain,
I look at the black sky.
Almost as black as my heart.
I claw at my skin,
Because I hate the truth within.
They don't know me.
I just wish to be free.
Is that too much to ask?
Will this breath be my last?
Or will I live to become the person I want to be?
Will I live to be me?
Will I find love somewhere deep within?
Or will I wither thin?
Will I fall apart?
Or will I lose heart?
Will I live to be thirty?
Or will I kill myself at twenty?
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.
