Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jun 2019
There is an insect inside of me
His name is depression
He's feasting on my innards
The pain moves up to my brain
It spreads through my veins
Now I'm shaking and choking on my own blood
Tearing up
Would that I could
And I am so very tired
If I could only end it all
Where am I, what can I do to stop this?

Who's there to trust?
Floor
Written by
Floor  17/F
(17/F)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems