They tell me to move,
To run far away,
To find happiness somewhere else,
Before I find myself in a grave.
But I'm stubborn and I don't listen,
Though there voices seem many,
I stay and I fight,
But I'm tired of this living.
If life in this broken Home is forever so bittersweet,
Then I'd rather move away,
Find a quiet, kind retreat.
Is it abuse? I cannot decide,
These struggles I can no longer hide,
My mind is filled with questions,
For every action, thought or feeling,
I ask "why"?
And these questions are eating away at me,
There are too many to think,
I try to shove them all away,
But I can't force them away with just a drink.
So they cave in on me, like the walls during an attack,
I stumble dizzily from the buzz and the marks,
I fall clumsily onto my back,
Do I get up or stay down?
Forever I will ask,
Cause the world can not knock you down,
If you're already on your back.
But then what's the point in living,
If each second is a hell?
I'd rather find a comfy coffin,
Than with Satan forever dwell.
Jane / poems
YOU ARE READING
Sad Poetry
PoetryMy only escape is through my writing. Welcome to my world ~ It's not very pretty, but I hope it makes you feel something. *Cover credit; Kaylannette
