I might have tried to kill myself last night.
I might be sitting in a hospital bed,
as alive as I can ever be on the outside,
But on the inside,
Oh, on the inside,
I died months ago.
I died when I got quiet.
I died when I started bleeding every night.
I died when I withdrew.
I died when I stopped enjoying the company of friends.
I died when I was always tired.
I died when I couldn't live anymore.
No,
I died when I didn't enjoy living.
YOU ARE READING
My Mind On Paper
PoetryA collection of poems written by me. These are for the heartbroken, the hopeless romantics, the lonely, and the people struggling with their mental health. Also, I try to add a nice picture to every chapter to take away from some deep-ness(?) of som...
