I do this “thing.”

I bring more pain to myself when I’m already hurting; and I can’t stop.



I crank the sad songs,

I drive in the pouring rain,

I hold myself underwater a little too long,

I scream in pain,

I look at old letters,

I take a blast to the past,


And in the end, I accomplish nothing,

There is no point,

I’m still alone, only this time,

I’ll be burning from my crash 

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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