Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Oct 2015
obsessing over how badly i want to die i find i have been hitting myself in the face pulling at my hair scraping my milky skin to an angry and passionate red is this what going crazy is like or am i simply growing up never learning how to cope taking solace in hurt wearing my misery on a scarred up wrist no one sees but the angels///he holds me and places soft kisses on my skin palm to palm our hands differ by a centimeter maybe two in the night he lies close to me he trusts me curls his body around mine i am enveloped in his sweet caresses his scent fills me to the brim i spill over in his hands no one sees but the angels
had an episode tonight
these thoughts directly followed
Emma Hill
Written by
Emma Hill  417
(417)   
464
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems