I'm poisoning myself.
I am the poison. The venom.
I'm toxic.
Damaged.
Corosive.
Allowing myself to be used up.
Eaten.
Swallowed whole.
I'm almost gone.
My spirit is so wounded.
Soul tired.
Worn.
My silence is so painful.
Hurting and numbness go around and around.
Circles and cycles and sleepless nights.
I die a little more inside with every unspoken tear.
Too late.
Too lost.
Unsaved.
Unsolved.
Listless.
Lonely.
Love isn't real anymore.
Then again maybe it never was.






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