I like to drink hot coffee at three am just to remember
how it feels to get
burned,
I like to lie on my room's cold floor and read Plath's words
until my eyes completely die and my back hurts almost like hell,
I like to sit down for what feels an
eternity (perhaps, a little longer)
and think about every tiny and stupid thing i've ever done in my life,
I like to walk home, it gives me
an entirely serenity (as a drug to an addict),
I like to eat chocolate when I feel like
I should drown myself in vodka,
I like to listen to loud music because
it's the only way to shut the loud voices in my head...
But listen,
when I see a mother with its children,
or a girl with its lover,
or a boy with its friends,
I realise that I don't exactly like the taste of
loneliness,
I just need a soul that won't give up on me
because I know that
eventually,
I will too.
//
WARNING: this book touches some sensitive topics (such as mental illness, suicide/death, violence, drugs, self harm, etc) which may be triggering if you suffer(ed) with these. please leave if you don't feel comfortable. if you can handle it, read under your own cost.
I AM NOT ROMANTICIZING ANY OF THOSE SUBJECTS.
© cover and story by journxl. DO NOT STEAL OR I SWEAR I'LL FIND YOU.
YOU ARE READING
MESS » poetry.
Poetrymy hands write down words my brain can't contain anymore. [highest rankings omfg: #75 in poetry / #358 in random]