I write, it's garbage!
Time to take it out!
Is it the day I give up?
Nope, it's the day I write about false love.
Never ever thought in my life I'd be insecure about my writing
Mentally I'm fighting
But now I'm scribble these poems like a coloring book
Colorful thoughts but dark words
I can't decide if thats for the best or the worse
But whatever, temporary it works!
I'm slowly losing my mind
Wished I was able to travel through I'm
But at the same time I don't
Then who would my family be? What would I be? Would anyone I actually love give a **** about me?
I guess I'll never know