every day you drove around town
stopping the wind with bare hands
trying to hold sand but they always
manage to leave you empty, in the end.
your name is precious, say it with pride
why do you live for others and not yourself?
don’t you know unhappiness is toxic yet addicting
please, learn to say no
step out of that burning house
before your skin becomes somebody else.
if the wolves are always hungry and manipulative,
why do you still let them in?
you want to torture yourself, don’t you?
look at yourself in the mirror
don’t you recognize her anymore
convince yourself money will fix things
but would it fix the pain inside your chest
would it fix the 3am cry
or the “I don’t know what to do with life”?
there’s something so self-destructive yet poetic
about carving your name on the sand
and wait for the next wave to hit again.
t.l.
aren’t we all stuck somewhere
with the exit sign right next to us?
Tsunami of Words 