In a quiet room.
With loud thoughts.
His mind traveled into deep thoughts.
Carving words into his skin.
Watching his reality start to thin.
Anxiety starts getting high.
Along with his lungs fill with pain.
Watching the world spin away.
His parents labeled him
"Disappointment"
Or
"Filth"
His mirror was clouded with the names that he tried so desperately to wash off...but it was stained. Forever.
So he crawls into his room.
Lights off and sheets cold.
Watching his memories start to unfold.
As the millions of pills he washed down and uploaded into his system.
Wet his eyes and become nothing more
Than the son that was worth nothing.
With no one to hold.
YOU ARE READING
Loud Pøetry Spilled From The Quiet Soul
PoetryAll of these are mine. Not the Internet. Trigger warning. (Self mutilation, depression, anorexia, etc....) And my apologies if they aren't even slow to Bukowski or Anything....I just wanted to try
