I unzip my skin to release the red,
with it, my pain.
"Pathetic." I point out to myself.
I was pathetic.
I had no life,
no meaning,
no joy;
and I never will.
Author notes
A good poet doesn't always write in thier own shoes...
A little poem about something I hear entirely too much about.
Does it work?
Comments
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So, this is pretty but depressing. Your author's note is pretty much saying that you don't do this, right?
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Right. No worries Tanna.
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Okay, just making sure. Because that would make me über sad.
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