Dead Living
Tears slipping down my pale cheeks.
The mirror shows a broken girl.
Eyes, weary and dead.
Face drawn with pain.
Lips clenched white.
Her hair lays limply from her head.
Her body is folded slightly in on itself.
As if preparing for a harsh blow.
Cold.
I
Am
Cold
Like a glacier,
In the middle of Antartica.
The clouds cast shadows,
That hide my Death.
The mist after the sweet, hard rain.
Hides my empty, souless eyes.
I move.
I breathe.
I talk.
I smile.
I laugh.
But I am dead.
In truth...
I died long, long, ago.
Maybe I was murdered.
Or
Maybe i just couldn't take the pain anyore.
Maybe I killed myself.
It doesn't matter.
Because.....
They can't see
That
I'm
Dead.
👁 1💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
If you or someone you know is struggling, you are not alone.
988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline — call or text 988, 24/7. Crisis Text Line — text HELLO to 741741.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
Comments are closed for this poem.