The hot coal

Sat, 10/14/2017 - 12:27 -- Shakiya

Oh how my throat burns from the toxic that I would gladly spit back in your face.

To cope with the uneasiness, the though of becoming an alcoholic teased me.

I intended to leave without a trace.

How pitiful, you're still running away ?


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741