My brain cells are high.
Too high up.
My head is leaving me.
Gasping for the air.
Respiration is gone.
Too many emotions unseen.
Too many things misunderstood.
If only they understood my reasoning,
rather than paint my face with red.
Make me out to be a relentless villain.
No.
I'm just the anonymous.
They don't know me.
YOU ARE READING
Dear Suicide...
Poetry(#12 in Poetry- 3/5/17 |14 in Poetry- 2/28/17 |23 in Poetry- 11/18/16) Have you ever considered picking up a pen and writing to the one you fear most? Well, that's what I've done. When I write to my fears, It's oddly satisfying, because I know that...
