Easy Fix Poem by Wandering Biku
Easy Fix
It was the sort of feeling
I always drank on:
Frustration,
Banging my head against a wall
Screwing myself into a ball
Wanting to shout out, to get away,
To calm my mind, a need to relax.
The easy fix that always works.
Flushing myself through with poison
Washing what's inside away
To find myself in exquisite numbness.
Short term gain and long term pain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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5/23/2024 5:34:46 PM # 1.0.0.1119
