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sometimes I dream about needles piercing through my skin
the abuse I inflict upon myself to pay for all my sins
sometimes I travel to the underwaters
where saline liquor fills up my lungs
reminding me that I am the unwanted daughter
the other days, I find solace in the silence of my mind
where I spend the moments
pondering about the afterlife
most of the times, I envision death
does it hurt?
are you finally at rest?
most of the nights, I'm a trembling mess
shaky fists and a heaving chest
I don't dream of funerals
that's something you can smell
I'm searching for an escape
can't you already tell?
YOU ARE READING
Throes of Spring ✔️
Poetry[FEATURED] godhood is just like girlhood: a begging to be believed
