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S. Patterson

If you don't learn to write your own story, someone else will write it for you

10 poems·Since October 2016
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Bleeding Black

November 16, 2016

There's this sinking feeling in my stomache,

Like there's a pit swallowing me from the inside.

It feels abandoned and hallow,

Like I'm missing a part of my being.

 

It's sad and it hurts,

But I can't quite put my finger on the problem.

It feels like there's everything and nothing.

 

If my heart were to be cut open,

I think it would be made of stone,

Cold and solid,

Just like the lack of emotions,

Just like my mood.

 

If my veins were split and exposed,

They would spew black blood,

Just like my wardrobe,

And the eyeliner outlining my eyes.

 

If my soul was to be shown,

It would be lost and anxious,

Reading a map that doesn't lead anywhere.

It would be shredded and worn,

With pieces missing.

 

My essence,

Is falling apart.

My day to day life is wrong and disturbed.

I can feel my life fading,

My life lacking.

 

I want to get better,

I can get better,

I might get better,

I will get better.

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