Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

no more

I want to wear words
I am tired of fueling my eyes with
an ocean of poetry
thinking that what I hold in my eyes
is earth-shattering

but you don't see
"Suicide" would stretch across my chest

my chest
where perverts eye and think I
am something less than a person

my chest
where the turmoil of my soul is kept
in a stark red throbbing
where pain and joy begin and end
where you still linger
The paint is bleeding
and I tell myself it is the time to let go
a cold piercing moment in your eyes
and I know.



Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!




Site Feedback