Potentially Perfect Poison

"Pick your poison," he says to me.

I've already taken it can't you see?

The pain I feel,

Poison, how slow to kill.

 

The sickness builds, it builds.

Until it reaches the surface and over it spills.

Taking over, the darkness comes,

leaving my soul, empty. Done.

 

Lost before I was found,

in this sadness, I willingly drown.

Hidden inside, I keep these thoughts,

no one can know it's you that I sought.

 

"Pick your poison," he said to me.

So I let him go, I set him free.

By another's side he stands,

No, he never was my man.

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741