What is raw? What is real? What is simply making it worse?
All these wounds Never heal Because time can’t go in reverse
I can write All these things About how I used to be
Let it out For a crowd So they can all see
But it won’t help Not one bit If they know what’s deep inside
All it does Is make me Regret that I even tried
I write as an outlet, as a way to let all the nasty things running though my brain come out in a neat little package. And I post poems, poems about whatever I’m going through, as a cry for help... but people never listen