Mar. 12th. 2024

I want to stay suffering with my door shut

And I write poems about how lonely it is in the attic

While I sit here and think the same things over and over

My looks are fading, so I must get high by getting low

Then start again, to begin- with the thought I will stay hidden

Yet I write for a crowd and move like I’m being watched or on the edge of being saved, It keeps me mediocre 

I prefer to stay in my room, where I rot in peace

destroy me until all that remains is a shadow

of what used to be a girl