I'm the roach crawling on your ceiling,
the slug you wish you could salt.
You blink from the powder off my fuzzy nasty wings.
I get it now,
how it feels to be dependent
on that tiny burning light.
I have nothing to look forward to.
YOU ARE READING
Lux
PoetryIt's okay to hate yourself, everyone else hates you too. All poems that contain mentions of child sexual abuse are asterisked. I do not want to delete any entries, so there are more mediocre poems in the beginning. Entries progressively get better (...
