So Tired
I’m tired of crying,
I’m tired of overthinking,
I’m tired of breathing,
I’m so tired of pretending.
I’m holding a sharp blade,
enough to cut my wrist
and make it bleed nonstop.
In the count of three, it will.
I’m holding a rope.
I’m ready to hang myself.
In the count of three,
I’m already hanging and unable to breathe.
Who would miss me?
No one for I’m left alone.
No one dared to help me
instead they mocked me.
Now that I’m gone, forever gone.
Who is going to find me?
For in my last seconds,
I only have myself with me.
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts, Feelings, and Experiences
PoetryPoems are written because of experiences and imaginations where knowledge and feelings unites. When it hurts, it hurts but it's all right. Feel the pain and let poetry speak for it. 📌Poems can be triggering for some.
