the back of my shirt is bloody
cause i pick my skin apart
and yes; my mom will yell
but she knows i'd never stop.my mind is getting loud
i'd rather not-
but i look down to the crowd
as it starts to dissapear
-like no one was ever here.
not every poem has a title
the back of my shirt is bloody
cause i pick my skin apart
and yes; my mom will yell
but she knows i'd never stop.my mind is getting loud
i'd rather not-
but i look down to the crowd
as it starts to dissapear
-like no one was ever here.