When things got heavy, I drown myself with so much words. Or should I say, words —endless words came flooding me. Weapons appearing, such as shovel digging the earth, voices hearing, throwing me lines i don’t wanna write. But it wins over me. They kill me by my own pit, own breath, they steal away; own flesh, it peels from me and wears. I lost, I always lose. Nothing’s new, but this new poem. —I am Miss X and that’s about me.
About
Approaching Y 