I choke over my words, my sickness coming up my throat, somehow my scars are fading but I can still feel the cut, and the purple constellations above my bed make my heart feel not so dead, I can feel the demons leaving, but somehow I'm still not believing, I don't remember what it was like to be free.
I'm so used to pretending, that I'm perfectly okay, and now that my heart is restarting, I can't tell if I'm still acting, I can feel my broken bones healing, and somehow I can get up again, is this what it was like to be me?
I choke over my words, my sickness coming up my throat, somehow my scars are fading, and the pain almost seems like it was never there, I almost feel free, therapy.
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Wasteland Deity
PoetryA collection of poems, short stories, thoughts, etc. Trigger warning.
