And as I write this teardrops stroll down my face. Creating puddles on my phone screen.
Because you hoped and thought that someone as broken as you would understand.
That they would know the pain like you do
and hope not to invoke that pain on anyone.
But that's when it hurts the most. That broken person you can relate to hurts you anyway.
And you don't understand why or how. You thought they could relate and understood. And now your left broken and confused.
YOU ARE READING
Maybe I'm Insane
PoetryMaybe I'm insane, but aren't we all a bit. Here's a look inside my crazy mind. My hopes, my fears, my problems all out there for you to see. It's not all pretty and it's not all nice, but it's the truth. I won't blame society for these things, becau...
