Find me in the cellar closed in the fridge.
Plucking the nails off my fingers,
Swallowing them.
I feel it cutting through my chest
Like tension between fingernails and blackboards.
Locked myself in this frozen treasure chest.
By free will.
My mind looks on with disgust
As my heart romances with anxiousness.
YOU ARE READING
Growing
PoetryA collection of cliche poems illustrating the struggles of a dramatic teenager accompanied by average photography.
