It’s weird.
Thinking is weird.
It brings you to thoughts
you could never imagine you thought.
Yet you know that somewhere
that thought came
from inside
the soul
known as you.
Your pain is truly tragic.
You hoped and dreamed.
However the world just
isn’t they way you planned.
It isn’t what you imagined.
Yet you sit here and say
“I will kill myself,
and make the pain go away.”
But it’s just a hope,
that something is better.
That leaving is going to be grand.
But what if,
it’s not quite,
what you hoped,
and dreamed,
it would be.
It’s not what you
Imagined,
not what you wanted.
Well doll,
there’s no going back.
A Poem Written by Myself.
The Itch
I have this itch.
It lives inside me
and I don’t know
why it stays.
I have this itch.
It burns my skin,
and I don’t know
how it stops.
I have this itch.
It sheds my blood,
and I don’t know
why I’m doing this.
I have this itch.
It’s around my neck,
and I know exactly
how I got here.
~XxNameGoesHerexX