Dec 16, 2022
I’m tired.
Writers block they say
Or maybe it’s suppressing
I just count the days
It helps with regressing
The days I’ve drank myself
To an early grave
Peace or happiness isn’t
What I crave.
Within those things
They can be taken away
I want numbness
Not braveness, waved.
I don’t want the
“Put on your brave face
Happy place
Straight laced
All-in-good-grace”
I just want a real face
And that face
Is hurt and scared
It’s displaced, it’s depressed
And it’s taste
In people is that I want
To be shut off closed
Unexposed.
Away.
You’ve done what you wanted.
You got your way.
