You should be here, this is your job,
to hold me on the nights where I can't fight the panic attacks.
But you aren't here, and I realize how weak I still am.
I told you, even before this all started,
that sometimes I'm not quite saine.
You kissed me and said that you could handle it,
but you didnt understand how bad I get.
YOU ARE READING
Seeking Solace
Poetry"No One Sane writes a novel" "Now you see What's wrong with me." // Chicklit #366 Miscellaneous poems of a never ending sort.
