Always
My eyes are made of glass.
They are full, and deep.
I can hear them full up with
sadness.
They are not allowed to become
too full. I can't be sad.
I have nothing to be sad about.
It makes my chest ache,
and my throat burn. There's a
lump in my that has replaced my voice.
Everything here is blue, it has always been.
Always.
Let go
If death were to take me by the hand. Would I give it my red eyes, and tear stains?
Would I ask for more?
Death seems too promising, and wishful.
Maybe even kind. For if I am such an evil,
Maybe life will let me go.
About the Creator
Vesselostatsea
@vesselostatsea
Insta @_anniehall__
Poetry, Adolescents, Life
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