Teenage Angst
Learn more about other poetry terms
Is it called suicidal if it’s not
right this minute that you want to die?
I have a lot to look forward to.
It’s just that, sometimes, I don’t particularly
My hands fell on morning
Hard leather, cigarettes
Tint midnight memories.
Smoldering red sun snuck
Up on me. Heartbroken
Mother draped in her gown
Waves me off. From my home
Six feet under I wonder what I could've done better
Changed my chains, got a job, moved out the cellar,
Rent a car, take my Ma on a first rate vacation,
I am no one and everyone. I'm stuck in the crowd drifting in and out.
I'm eager to escape, to breathe freely and live happily.
To open my eyes and truely see what's around me.