for months now my body’s been clean-
but i’m itching to make it scream-
to make it pay-to make it cry-
since i can’t seem- to make my eyes.
my blurryface- he wanders-he flirts-
i know that he feeds-off of my hurt
-i’m falling through the bleeding trapdoor-
and i don’t know if i can do this anymore.
i wish my march was over and i could go-
to that angry place down below-
at least- then- the earth and the sky-
would not be blotted by my life.
you can protest-and you can persist-
you can tell me i’m not worthless-
but no matter-what you say- i’ll still believe-
the universe- it would be better- without me.
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 12:20 AM UTC
for months now my body’s been clean-
but i’m itching to make it scream-
to make it pay-to make it cry-
since i can’t seem- to make my eyes.
my blurryface- he wanders-he flirts-
i know that he feeds-off of my hurt
-i’m falling through the bleeding trapdoor-
and i don’t know if i can do this anymore.
i wish my march was over and i could go-
to that angry place down below-
at least- then- the earth and the sky-
would not be blotted by my life.
you can protest-and you can persist-
you can tell me i’m not worthless-
but no matter-what you say- i’ll still believe-
the universe- it would be better- without me.
horrible poetry
