Raw wounds and scratches
They sting and burn
Even a gently breeze
Can feel like a thousand matches
Running across
This template of life
A tan covered book with
Blue binding shining with red gloss
The pages are not stained
With millions of tears
Cause they can not fall
I won't let them be drained
The cover has rough bumps
Like the bumpy road
Of my life and love
Yet the veins constantly are pumps
Raging red
To write my poems
Burning blue
To clear my head
It's like a drug
I gotta fight
But emotions tempt me
At my bad habit, they tug
Raw wounds and scars
They sting and ache
From a single wandering glance
I'll face judgement from the stars
YOU ARE READING
This Is The Sad Part
PoetryA selection of poems I've written that represents my experience with depression, anxiety, and other mental health issues.
