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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: July 29, 2017

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Submitted: July 29, 2017



So many things compressed,

So many things that remain unconfessed,

That need to be addressed,

Just want to put it to fucking rest,

Cause these things got me stressed,

My mind is a jail cell filled with indiscretion,

And I'm not coping with this oppression,

I'm bitter aned filled with aggression,

Don't know who I'm looking at anymore in my own reflection,


I need to vent,

About my line of descent,

The exes that left a dent,

About the money spent for consent,

All the dark content,

That fucks with my head,


But can there be closure,

When there's been so much overexposure,

I just want to find composure,

But everyday my heart just gets colder,

All the demons in my past become another pill,

A joint to kill,

An alchoholic thrill,

Or some powder snorted up through a bill,

All I'm trying to do is numb,

The things I can't seem to overcome,

I'd rather feel something,

The feel nothing,

My life is fiilled with constant bluffing,

Don't want to face my problems so I'll keep running,


Explain why no where feels like home,

Explain why I had to do so much on my own,

Explain why I loved them but they moved on,

Tell me I sold my soul,

So explain how it isn't gone.


What I really need to do is vent,

Talk about my fucked up line of descent,

The exes that left a hole not a dent,

About the money spent for not legal consent,

That's all my dark content,

And it' fucking with my head.




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