Last Month

I was low
Really low
Play out in traffic at night kind of low.

It burns my upper spine
Not so much about suicide
More so that I want to die.

Because I can’t relate
And I’m tired of trying
I’m tired of wondering why I’m not crying.

I’m tired of me
Not being NT
And I can’t help I think they’re all looking at me.

They’re not
I know they aren’t
And I know I’m not giving all that I’ve got.

For What?
A new spot?
All that I know is I’m home in my thought.

One day I suppose
In times delicate dose
All of my thoughts will be mapped out, exposed.

Until that then
Whenever that then
I’ll await the return of my low little friend.

By: Seigh Pten

Published by

The White Raven

Writer, author, philosopher, philanthropist, poet, imbecile, denizen gypsy. A rare bird of sorts is what you'll come to think of me. I love to write, play, and work diligently to prove one day fiction will become a reality. I'm very simple when it comes to my views on life, a backpack is ideally my best friend and I found my mistress with paper and pen.

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