One in a million.
No one like me.
I'm an original.
Me and only me.
My blue eyes.
My brown hair.
My pale skin.
But life's unfair.
In a world of black and white.
I'm left alone.
It's a sad sight.
My life is one of its own.
I hear the screams.
The everlasting yells.
He only beats her.
The silence it sells.
The grass grew green.
But it wasn't for me.
I own a yellow yard.
One that's unhealthy.
My life is a mess.
I live in such stress.
It's unoriginal never the less.
It's like a test.
I count the hair that falls out.
Day by day I want to shout.
It's not me inside anymore.
Its a lie I can't ignore.
My therapy session lasted but an hour and not one more.
My life is a cost the world must pay.
For today I'm an original.
The last of my kind and the only one who took the time.
I see you today but I won't tomorrow.
This is it my final breath of sorrow.
My last wish is that you will see.
There was only one of me.
It's been days since I cried.
But it's been years since I've tried.
Today I've decided to die.
But tomorrow you may decide to cry.
I'm done hurting.
I'm done fighting.
I'm done with pain.
I'm done with this stupid game.
YOU ARE READING
The Days With No Sun
PoetrySometimes we fear truth over reality. But things get dark and heavy and we play the blame game. We end up hurting others or ourselves even. We don't think before we act or we don't say before we do. This is the evolution of my madness. A cluster of...
