I'm by no means a poet. I just do this sometimes to get rid of my headache.
It started out as any storybook should, perfect and new.
Now the pages, well worn with age, lay soaked in regret.
My life stained the words; all written in lonliness.
It became so hard to read between those lines.
I'm just dead weight taking up space.
In that ocean, I couldn't breathe.
I couldn't shake this apathy on my own,
And I'm wishing upon stars to sleep away my days.
Life isn't the same; back when I could just pretend.
I'd give up, but I feel too alive when you have my hand.
I'm scared, trying hard to forget how it feels to lose everything.
"Baby, I won't leave you."