Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2019
Fear spills into me, and soaks through every ***** like ink makes its way through paper. So effortless. Without hesitating.
I wonder if healing will ever feel less like dying.
Ive inhaled so much poison my lungs are nothing but corrupted flesh, Ive set fire to my stomach hoping that it will **** whatever is in there, eating me from the inside out.
None of it works.
BlueBird
Written by
BlueBird  35/Alberta.
(35/Alberta.)   
175
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems