You do what you have to do to survive.
That's what they say,
I try to remember that when my hands claw at the ground and blood seeps out of my mouth.
I am just surviving,
Say it over and over again like a prayer,
But the gods don't listen.
I become a walking tragedy,
Waiting for my past to kill me.
Things haunt me until I no longer hold the title of a warrior,
I am merely a corpse trudging against fate.
I'm doing what is right,
I'm doing what is necessary,
I'm doing what keeps me alive.
Yet after all that I can't seem to justify the fact I am still breathing.
Survivor is a pretty exaggeration,
Rotting is the truth.
YOU ARE READING
The Boy That Never Forgot Their Name
PoetryStep into the life of a mystery in this poetry collection exploring romance, death,pain, and creatures out of this realm. Forget what you have learned of heartbreak and ghosts because when you walk into the forest I promise that you will know the tr...
