Categories > Original > Poetry1 Reviews
The title has nothing to do with the poem. I just like that word.
Acknowledge the pretty and the dead.
Ignore the weak, stomp on their feelings, crush them up.
Turn them into rumble, rocks and trash.
Decomposing toxic waste, inhale the scent that breaks down your every right piece of mind.
Tie askew, top buttons popped off.
You look like a mess, but that's okay.
I could be your shredded heard and broken sighs.
It could be my fault or it could be yours.
Or maybe the letter left taped to the door.
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will cripple my unstable and heavily dependent self-worth.
It's like a fucking curse.
Depression is a war that will either be won, or you shall die trying.
But no matter what, you always must try and put up a fight.
Something I just wrote. I don't really get what I just wrote.