At home
Doesn't feel like home
More like a prison cell
With many things to kill time
But I choose my bed
Where it soaks up all my tears
My frustrations and hatred
Where winter blankets could choke the breathe out of me
And the walls paint my blood prints
That spell out
"I'm tired"
...
Entranced
By my window
It's pulling me in
To open it
To step foot in the frigid cold
With little to no clothing
To freeze my weak heart
Walking with no destination
As if I'm walking in my mind
...
I'm going to run out of tears soon
Searching for another way out
Bleeding
Or drinking
Or caressing knives
Or punching walls
...
If I'm destined to not make it
Can I know now
So I can stop killing time...
YOU ARE READING
Star-Crossed in Parallel Lines
Poetry-Poetry -Quotes -Scenarios -Imaginaries -A piece of my heart ( and limb ) -A key to my inner most disturbing thoughts -The passage to my sanctuary Still want to enter? Good luck, I'm currently undergoing a mission to finally understand the wilde...
