Drove myself to it when I everything I did , I did it to avoid it.
I took a herb, the kind of herb that wasn't healing to my sores, only I didn't know.
The herb made my sores wounds, I've been aging with open wounds.
The poisonous herb harmed me, The poisonous herb turned my sores into wounds
YOU ARE READING
Withering Flower, The Depression
PoetryThe poem is about depression and how one fell into it trying to avoid it by being strong and bottling up feelings coz they didn't want to communicate their frustrations and hurt doing that trying to keep the peace with the closest to them by the way.
