FilthMature

Black putridness slowly

Filling my lungs and chest

And suffocating me with

The shame and regret of

What I have done.

 

Why do I do this to myself?

Why do I keep making such

Stupid mistakes? This isn’t

Living life freely this is barely

Living, barely breathing.

 

What happens when the jokes

I always used to make of myself

Turn into reality? Am I even close

To the same person I was a year ago?

Or has the black filth changed myself

Entirely?

The End

1 comment about this poem Feed