Slowly fucking it up
Like always.
Music can't drown the pain
In which I only regain
My reality
Crashing into me like
a wave of black goo
Sticking to the bones of my body.
Molding into my structure.
Leaking into my veins.
Filling me up with such death.
I just want to be happy.
But this goo has rejected it
And casted out my heart.
Ingulfing it and squishing it
As if it didn't want to feel anymore.
I don't feel anymore.
I don't want to live anymore.
I.
Am.
Gone.
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
