Bottom.


I don't know how it got this far.
Injecting myself with a poisonous tar.
Lonely, Cold, Stony, Slowly dying inside.
Running from the truth, trying hard to hide.
Wasting my youth, years continue to fly by.
Holding in tears that need to be cried.
Reassuring myself it's not that bad.
Visualizing the life I wish I would have had.
Oblivious to what I was getting into.
Out with the old in with new.
Broken bad habits worse ones were replaced.
Reflecting on my life wondering how much more time will go to waste.
Every day, I tell myself I've had enough that's it.
It's not long before I throw in the towel and quit.
Restless, uncomfortable and, muggy. I can't seem to sit still.
Clammy, Achier joints, my body won't ever seem to heal.
I never imagined I would have turned out this way.
If my mother were alive what would she say?
I don't believe this was God's plan for me.
Poor, Homeless, Slut, Junkie.
Apologies to self for all the destruction and harm, if I could go back I wouldn't have let the needle register my arm.

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This Poems Story

I wrote this poem at a really difficult time in my life. I wanted better. So I stopped making excuses and made a change.