I feel as if I'm strapped to a chair, blindfolded.
There's a faucet above me, it isn't very strong, but it drips.
It drips and it drips and it drips.
It drips onto my head over and over again.
It's incessant, the water is rubbing my skin raw.
The moment I think it's over, it continues, only the pattern changes.
It's drives me insane.
YOU ARE READING
ballads of heartbreak
Poetry"I'm sorry that I'm like this, I'm trying my best" -essentially a diary, slight tw for being self destructive & harmful, some really good stuff crammed in with a bunch of nonsensical three am cry sessions
