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Georgina Sharma Mar 2019
Drugs, drastic doings and daily doses of suicide.

Do I do it for that feeling of self government?
That adrenaline rush; an engulfing sense of freedom and autonomy.
This is my body,
My lungs to inhale with, my mouth to swallow with and my nose to snort with.
I shouldn't be doing this,
I'm going to do this.
Why am I so ****** up?

Do I do it because I don't care?
'SMOKING KILLS' ,it says it on the box.
Every day I torture my lungs, suffocating them,
Smothering them, smouldering them.
Every inhalation bringing me closer to death.
This thought is not a deterrence but a mere acceptance.
The more I allow myself to be a slave to my plotting and unsubtle murderer, the less I care.
Why am I so ****** up?

Do I do it because its an act or rebellion?
Look at me, I'm doing something you don't approve of,
I'm going to make you angry.
With my misdirected strength and determination,
I'm going to tear down the walls that are your rules.
This feeling of disobedience, it's addictive.
Why am I so ****** up?
So many reasons, so many people, so many ****** up things.
Georgina Sharma Mar 2019
Tossing and turning for minutes that painfully become hours
I lay awake each night
Scouring at my exhausted eyes until they're so sensitively raw
I lay awake each night
With a head fighting a raging war of thoughts
I lay awake each night
As merciless mines of hopes, fears and ideas explode
I lay awake each night
Shooting and blasting the inside of my skull with new notions
I lay awake each night
Praying for a ****** of time as an empty shell, free of thought
I lay awake each night
Georgina Sharma Feb 2019
I'm okay.
A two word reply,
A simple adjective,
But a ton of emotion behind it.
A way of saying,
No, I'm not okay.
But my problems aren't your problems.
The weight of my thoughts and feelings is not for you to carry,
Not for you to have to understand,
What is hazy and blurred even to me.
My head is a raging storm of flurrying feelings,
Hailstones of emotion, worry and stress.
I'm okay. How are you?
Georgina Sharma Mar 2019
Grasping my face as my perpetual sobs failed to cease,
You looked me in the eyes and said with your brotherly ease,
"Do not let this define you"-
Words compelling my courage to break through.
You wiped my tears away,
Water and mascara forming rivers all grey.
My heart was still hurting but my shoulders weighed less,
As you took some weight upon yourself after forcing my emotions to confess.
Georgina Sharma Mar 2019
You held me on my feet as I cried into your chest,
As I buried my pale, distraught face into your soft jumper,
You saw me at my most vulnerable,
With my broken heart crumbling right in front of your eyes
You interlocked your fingers with mine,
Tenderly squeezing my shaking hand as we parted,
A stream of tears still falling down my cheeks,
And yet I haven’t heard a word from you in over a week.
Do you not care? Or do you simply just not think of me?
I know your heart was hurt as well,
I could see the struggle in your eyes and hear it in your voice.
So please,
Don’t leave me to cope with this all alone.
Georgina Sharma Jan 2019
It still hurts,
Like a suffocating cloud of smothering smoke.
It’s all encompassing.
Thoughts of you: a two fold effect,
You bring both a smile to my lips and a tear to my eye.
You’ve branded my heart and the cattle **** never leaves my side,
Poking and prodding until the pain is fully permeated.
Fitful, sporadic bursts that still hurt.

Why can’t you see this? Why don’t you realise?
Rubbing salt into a still open wound hurts,
She’s the salt and I’m the wound.
You don’t mean it, it’s not purposeful,
I know this, I know you,
But why don’t you know,
That it still hurts.
Georgina Sharma Mar 2019
Drugs don't really make you happy,
Not real happy.
Powders and pills filled with chemicals,
Potions of counterfeit joyfulness,
That **** with your brain.
Suddenly, a fabricated view on life,
Unnatural, temporary happiness.
It's not real
Georgina Sharma Mar 2019
A conversation with you could last a life time.
Like oxygen, I take in every word you utter,
Every sound and every syllable.
I hunger for more every time silence prevails.
Words give an insight into the head
And to me your head is a place of indescribable intrigue.
Tell me more; let me in.
I lap up everything that leaves your lips
With the focus of an archer, I study these deliverers of such precious and unique information.
Speech from you is a gift to me.
The longer we talk, the more I know.
Every word you tell me slots into its place in my brain,
Too valuable to go to waste.
I will hold them forever,
My own treasure, my own snippets of you.
Your words.

— The End —